A  REVOLUTIONARY 


LOVE  STORY  BY 


ELLEN  OLNEY 

KIRK 


/ 


A  Revolutionary  Love  Story 
and  The  High  Steeple  of 
St.  Chrysostom's 


A  Revolutionary  Love-Story 


and 


The  High  Steeple  of 
St.  Chrysostom's 

BY 

Ellen, Olney  Kirk 


HERBERT  S.  STONE  &  COMPANY 

CHICAGO   &•  NEW  YORK 

MDCCCXCVIII 


Copyright  1898 

BY 

HERBERT  S.  STONE  &  CO. 


A  Revolutionary  Love-Story 


"  The  course  of  true  love  never  did  run  smooth.' 


ONE  Sunday  morning  in  July,  1776, 
Cicely,  only  daughter  of  John 
James  Farrington,  Esq.,  of  Saintford- 
on-the-Sound,  was  standing  before  the 
oval  mirror  of  her  dressing-table,  tying 
on  her  bonnet  to  go  to  church.  She 
wore  a  gown  of  white  paduasoy, 
embroidered  with  rose  buds,  over  a 
bodice  of  sprigged  muslin.  Her  large 
flaring  bonnet  of  fine  Leghorn  straw 
was  trimmed  with  a  scarf  of  the  silk, 
while  inside  the  brim  a  cap  of  shirred 


1732130- 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

net  framed  the  delicately  featured 
face.  If  Cicely  Farrington  was  not 
perfectly  beautiful,  she  still  possessed 
many  distinct  traits  of  beauty.  Her 
eyebrows,  her  eyelids,  the  way  the 
dark  hair  grew  away  from  her  forehead 
and  temples ;  the  modeling  of  her  lips, 
her  hands,  her  feet :  her  slim  shape  and 
nymph-like  carriage  —  each  of  these 
different  points  was  in  its  way  almost 
perfect.  At  this  moment,  neverthe 
less,  she  surveyed  her  own  charming 
image  without  any  satisfaction  in  her 
self  or  in  her  toilet.  For  in  these 
"times  which  tried  men's  souls" — 

"To  be  drest 
As  you  were  going  to  a  feast" 

showed  a  dangerous  leaning.  Still,  it 
may  be  that  Cicely  cared  less  for  public 
than  for  private  censors,  or  that  what 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

she  dreaded  was  lest  a  certain  pair  of 
eyes  might  be  better  pleased  with  Ruth 
Gentry  in  patriotic  homespun  than  with 
Cicely  Farrington  in  imported  silk. 

A  knock  at  the  door  roused  her  from 
her  reverie. 

"Mars'  Farrington  says  he's  ready  to 
'tend  Missus  Cicely  to  church,"  called 
one  of  the  black  boys,  indifferently 
trained  to  take  the  place  of  footman 
in  the  colonial  establishment.  And 
Cicely,  with  a  glance  back  over  her 
shoulder,  hurried  from  her  room  and 
down  the  stairway. 

Four  men,  hat  in  hand,  stood  ready 
to  receive  her. 

"There  is  no  haste,  my  daughter," 
said  the  squire,  as  John  James  Farring 
ton  was  generally  called.  He  was  a 
man  of  sixty-four,  tall  and  broad,  and, 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

with  his  own  gray  hair  tied  in  a  queue, 
showed  an  old-world  air  of  stateliness, 
further  set  off  by  his  Georgian  frock- 
coat,  ruffled  shirt  and  kneebreeches. 
His  two  sons,  James  and  Bicknell, 
resembled  him,  and  wore  their  nan 
keens  and  carried  their  three-cornered 
hats  with  rather  a  foppish  air.  The 
fourth  of  the  group,  a  kinsman  of 
Cicely's  mother  (now  some  ten  years 
deceased),  Morris  Marshall  by  name, 
was  dressed  in  a  suit  of  rough  gray 
homespun. 

Marshall,  in  spite  of  a  slight  deform 
ity  which  made  him  walk  with  a  limp, 
was  a  powerful-looking  man,  with  a 
cool,  determined  face,  a  subtle  blue 
eye,  an  aquiline  nose,  a  well-cut  mouth 
and  heavy  jaw,  all  aided  by  a  manner 
which  gave  his  least  word  and  act 

4 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

impressiveness.  As  the  girl  reached 
the  lowest  stair,  he  took  a  step  forward 
and  made  a  low  salutation. 

' '  You  look  like  a  bride,  fair  Cicely, ' ' 
he  said,  with  an  emphasis  which  seemed 
almost  irony.  "Will  you  go  to  church 
with  me?" 

"With  my  father,  if  it  pleases  you, 
Cousin  Marshall,"  Cicely  replied,  with 
a  slight  rise  of  color  in  her  cheeks. 

"You  do  not  like  my  homespun?" 

"My  Cousin  Marshall  is  best  judge 
whether  he  should  wear  homespun  or 
broadcloth,"  Cicely  said  again,  with  a 
slight  touch  of  disdain. 

"Lay  my  fault  to  the  emptiness  of 
my  pockets  and  the  necessities  of  the 
times,  Cousin  Cicely, "  Marshall  replied, 
with  his  easy  air  of  dominating  the 
situation.  "I  am  glad,  however,  to 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

keep  a  friend  at  court,  while  it  may  be 
well  if  the  Farringtons  have  an  humble 
kinsman  and  servant  in  homespun 
among  the  Sons  of  Liberty." 

Cicely  glanced  at  her  father  with 
some  alarm  at  these  political  allusions, 
but  Mr.  Farrington  only  pursed  his  lips 
as  he  offered  his  arm  to  his  daughter, 
and  led  the  way  through  the  great 
door,  held  wide  open  by  two  black 
servants,  one  on  each  hand,  bowing 
obsequiously.  Although  the  Farring 
tons  had  lived  for  more  than  a  century 
in  the  Connecticut  colony,  the  family 
had  retained  not  only  the  traditions  of 
high  life  in  England,  but  in  some 
reduced,  scanty  sort,  many  of  its  forms. 
John  James  Farrington  himself,  al 
though  born  in  Saintford  of  a  father 
also  born  in  Saintford,  took  a  tone, 
6 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

and,  it  might  also  be  said,  wore  an  air 
of  exile. 

At  this  moment,  as  the  knot  of  loung 
ers  gathered  in  front  of  the  church 
caught  sight  of  the  advancing  group 
of  Farringtons,  followed  by  their  dog 
Ponto,  Uriel  Coxe,  the  wag  of  the  vil 
lage,  exclaimed  just  above  his  breath : 

"Here  comes  my  Lord  Farrington, 
born  three  thousand  miles  from  his 
native  land." 

An  unusual  number  of  loungers  had 
gathered  in  the  wide,  grassy  street,  a 
convenient  place  of  reconnoissance  for 
both  houses  of  worship,  one  standing 
at  the  foot  and  the  other  on  top  of  the 
slight  eminence  called  "Meeting-house 
Hill."  A  feeling  that  something  was 
about  to  happen  was  in  the  air.  The 
crisis  had  been  slow  in  reaching  Saint- 

7 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

ford,  but  it  had  come  at  last.  While 
Massachusetts  had  been  for  years  in 
rebellion  against  tyrannical  governors 
and  their  edicts,  active  oppressions  had 
so  far  galled  and  fretted  the  people  of 
Connecticut  very  little.  The  old  char 
ter  of  1662,  the  freest  ever  granted  by 
royal  favor,  had  enabled  the  colonists 
to  go  on  electing  their  own  governors 
and  making  their  own  laws,  and  in 
spite  of  their  sympathy  toward  their 
sister  colonies  in  revolt,  the  old  feeling 
toward  the  mother  country  had  long 
retained  its  efficacy.  Saintford,  for 
example,  was  a  settlement  of  pure- 
blooded  Englishmen,  many  of  them  of 
good  position  and  substantial  means, 
likely  to  think  twice  before  flinging  to 
the  winds  all  that  they  had  reverenced 
and  clung  to  all  their  lives.  The  battle 
8 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

of  Lexington  had  nevertheless  been 
an  imperious  call  summoning  Major 
Marrable,  his  son  Sidney  and  two  or 
three  others  to  action,  and  their  ex 
ample  had  gradually  influenced  public 
opinion  and  brought  it  up  to  the  hostile 
point.  By  this  time  even  those  who 
most  loved  ease  and  a  safe  place  at  the 
fireside  had  become  energetic  opponents 
of  the  king's  policy.  Some  three  weeks 
before,  the  Connecticut  legislature  had 
ordered  the  king's  name  struck  off 
legal  and  commercial  paper;  ten  days 
later  the  congressional  delegates  had 
been  instructed  to  support  a  declaration 
of  the  independence  of  the  colonies,  and 
on  July  fourth  this  had  been  signed  in 
behalf  of  the  state  by  Roger  Sherman, 
Samuel  Huntington,  William  Williams 
and  Oliver  Wolcott. 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

The  gun  of  rebellion  had  been  fired, 
yet  on  this  pleasant  Sunday  morning 
the  good  Episcopalians  of  Saintford 
were  wending  their  way  to  church  to 
pray,  as  they  had  prayed  all  their  lives, 
for  the  welfare  of  the  royal  family. 
Parson  Kneeland  had  so  far  answered 
all  expostulations  in  the  matter  by  say 
ing  that  he  could  not  depart  from  rubric 
and  ritual  without  orders  from  his 
bishop. 

It  was  a  beautiful  day,  and  Saintford 
was  a  pretty  village,  with  streets  six 
teen  rods  wide,  set  off  by  groups  of 
trees  of  various  foliage  belonging  to 
the  original  forests,  not  yet  displaced 
by  the  regular  rows  of  elms  to  be 
planted  a  little  later  and  to  become  the 
crowning  glory  of  the  place.  The 
church,  dating  back  to  1743,  was  of 
10 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

imposing  dimensions,  with  ample  win 
dows,  comfortable  pews,  and  a  gallery 
with  an  organ ;  its  tall  steeple  was  sur 
mounted  by  a  richly  gilded  St.  Peter's 
•cock,  veering  to  every  breath  of  wind. 
The  belfry  contained  a  bell  of  unusual 
size  and  excellence  of  tone. 

The  plain,  square  Puritan  house  of 
worship  stood,  as  has  been  said,  not  far 
away,  and  when  the  two  bells,  alter 
nately  pealing,  answered  each  other,  it 
was  a  saying  of  Uriel  Coxe's  that  the 
meeting-house  bell,  small,  ill-cast,  ear- 
piercing,  called  out 


O-rig-i-nal  Sin!  O-rig-i-nal  Sin!  O-rig-i-nal  Sin! 

while  the  church  bell,  deep,  sustained, 
sonorous,  made  response — 
ii 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 


Good  old  English  roast  beef!  Good  old  English  roast  beef! 

Mr.  Farrington,  his  daughter  and 
sons  took  all  eyes  as  they  passed  on  to 
the  large  square  pew  at  the  right  of  the 
chancel,  and  more  than  one  prim 
glance  grew  more  prim  at  sight  of 
Mistress  Cicely's  brave  apparel.  The 
Continental  Congress  had  urged  fru 
gality  of  dress  upon  all  patriots,  and  the 
Sons  and  Daughters  of  Liberty  had 
made  a  league  to  wear  only  homespun 
stuffs.  Still,  it  had  to  be  confessed  that 
there  was  more  ostentation  in  the  way 
little  Ruth  Gentry  presently  followed 
Cicely  up  the  aisle  in  a  gown  of  linen, 
bleached  whiter  than  snow,  with  a  stiff 
ened  hat  of  the  same  material,  wound 
round  with  a  scarf  of  the  finest,  sheer- 
12 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

est  lawn,  than  in  all  Cicely's  rich 
attire.  Ruth,  with  coquettish  chal 
lenge,  seemed  to  say:  "I  spun  and 
wove  all  that  I  have  on  from  head  to 
foot.  Look  at  me,  and  see  if  I  am  not 
as  fine  a  lady,  besides  being  a  prettier 
girl  than  Cicely  Farrington. ' ' 

Cicely  yielded  the  palm  of  beauty  on 
the  spot.  She  blushed  in  shame  at  her 
own  finery  as  she  saw  Ruth,  shining 
like  a  gem  out  of  her  plain  setting, 
pass  to  the  end  of  the  Marrables'  pew. 
She  hardly  dared  look  to  see  who  fol 
lowed,  but  it  was  Madam  Moulthrop, 
in  her  stiff-hooped  brocade,  with  a 
black  footman  carrying  her  prayerbook, 
who  rustled  up  the  aisle  after  Ruth. 
Next  came  Major  Marrable,  lately 
returned  from  the  expedition  to  Can 
ada.  He  wore  a  sword,  and  when  the 

13 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

haughty  Tory  dame,  hearing  it  clank, 
turned  sharply  round  to  discover  what 
the  sound  was,  the  scabbard  caught  in 
the  lace  that  trimmed  her  petticoat.  At 
thus  encountering  the  most  pronounced 
of  all  Saintford's  rebels,  Madam  Moul- 
throp  grew  as  red  and  fierce  as  a  turkey 
cock,  angrily  caught  her  raiment  away 
from  the  contamination  of  a  rebel 
sword,  and  huddled  into  her  pew,  clang 
ing  the  door  as  if  barricading  herself 
against  an  enemy. 

Major  Marrable  stood  aside,  bowing 
with  a  deprecating  air  of  concern  for 
Madam  Moulthrop's  discomfiture,  but 
he  smiled  nevertheless,  and  there  was 
a  look  of  amusement  on  many  faces  in 
the  congregation.  He  waited  for  his 
son  Sidney,  a  handsome  young  fellow 
in  regimentals,  to  pass  him,  then  both 

14 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

sat  down  in  the  front  pew  with  Ruth 
Gentry  (a  cousin  of  Mrs.  Marrable's, 
brought  up  like  a  daughter  in  the 
house)  facing  the  Farringtons.  Just 
at  that  moment  Morris  Marshall  hap 
pened  to  be  looking  at  Cicely.  Seeing 
her  grow  suddenly  rosy  red,  he  turned 
and  caught  the  eager,  devouring  glance 
Sidney  Marrable  had  bent  upon  her. 
Marshall's  brow  grew  black.  He  all 
at  once  understood  why  his  own  suit 
to  Cicely  was  rejected  and  disdained. 
The  sudden  suspicion  that  Cicely  cared 
for  her  childish  playmate  struck  like  a 
lash  across  the  man's  tenderest  feelings. 
Sidney  Marrable  was  like  Cicely,  just 
one  and  twenty.  He  had  been  a  stu 
dent  at  Yale  College,  when,  after  the 
battle  of  Lexington,  Benedict  Arnold 
mustered  a  company  on  the  New  Haven 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

green  to  march  to  Boston  and  join  the 
patriots.  Sidney  had  been  in  service 
of  one  sort  or  another  ever  since.  He 
had  fought  under  Ethan  Allen  at  Ticon- 
deroga,  had  followed  Benedict  Arnold 
into  the  wilderness  and  through  the 
fruitless  siege  of  Quebec.  He  had 
now,  for  some  months,  been  at  Gen 
eral  Washington's  own  orders,  for  the 
commander-in-chief  had  at  once  recog 
nized  under  the  young  fellow's  light- 
hearted  audacity,  substantial  qualities 
which  justified  the  confidence  reposed 
in  him  by  each  officer  he  had  so  far 
served.  Sidney  was  hardly  old  enough 
for  any  considerable  promotion,  but  he 
had  held  more  than  one  detached  com 
mand,  where  he  had  been  conspicuous 
for  enterprise  and  success.  He  had 
also  shown  capacity  in  certain  separate 
16 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

and  responsible  services,  when  he  had 
to  see,  hear,  judge  and  act  for  his 
superiors.  At  this  very  time  he  was 
taking  Saintford  on  his  way  back  to 
headquarters,  after  a  conference  with 
General  Wooster,  stationed  at  Dan- 
bury,  respecting  certain  reinforcements 
for  the  commander-in-chief,  although 
the  ostensible  reason  for  his  com 
ing  home  was  to  meet  Major  Mar- 
rable,  who  was  spending  a  brief  fur 
lough  with  his  wife  before  rejoining 
General  Gates. 

The  elder  Marrable  and  Mr.  Farring- 
ton  had  not  been  friends  since  the  first 
mutterings  of  trouble  began  in  the 
colonies.  Major  Marrable  had  at 
tempted  to  instruct,  not  to  say  dictate 
to,  the  squire,  as  to  the  direction  in 
which  his  duty  lay.  At  this  moment 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

each  of  the  two  men  betrayed  his 
consciousness  of  the  other's  proximity 
by  a  certain  stiffening  of  mien. 

The  bell  stopped  tolling  almost  as 
soon  as  the  Marrables  had  taken  their 
seats.  At  the  first  note  of  the  organ, 
the  door  of  the  vestry-room,  which  was 
situated  at  the  entrance  to  the  church, 
opened,  and  the  Reverend  Ebenezer 
Kneeland,  with  his  lawn  surplice  flying 
out  a  yard  behind  him,  came  swinging 
up  the  long,  broad  aisle  to  the  read 
ing-desk.  His  face  was  pale  and 
showed  a  compressed  lip  and  twitching 
nostril.  As  he  rose  from  his  knees, 
after  a  moment's  silent  prayer,  his 
eyes  traveled  boldly  round  the  church ; 
then  opening  the  great  folio  prayer- 
book,  he  read  the  opening  sentence : 

"When  the  wicked  man  turnethaway 
18 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

from  his  wickedness,  that  he  hath  com 
mitted,  and  doeth  that  which  is  lawful 
and  right,  he  shall  save  his  soul  alive. ' ' 
His  glance  encountered  the  straight, 
commanding  gaze  of  Major  Marrable, 
who  looked  not  only  alert,  but  primed 
for  action.  The  clergyman  waited 
a  moment,  then  gathering  himself 
together  afresh  set  forward  to  read  the 
invocations  and  prayers  with  a  mighty 
ardor.  The  responses  were  as  fervent. 
It  was  as  if  the  spirit  had  descended 
not  only  upon  the  pastor,  but  upon  his 
people.  The  Venite  and  Benedictus, 
sung  by  all  who  chose  to  join,  gained 
extraordinary  volume.  The  Te  Deum 
was  uplifting  in  its  majestic  flow;  the 
creed,  as  it  rang  forth,  suggested  the 
crossing  of  drawn  swords.  Then 
began  the  litany,  and  into  every  peti- 

19 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

tion  was  poured  an  eloquence  of  suppli 
cation  which  left  few  eyes  dry.  A 
subtle,  indescribable  sense  of  the  sig 
nificance  of  passing  events  had  its 
clutch  upon  each  individual  conscious 
ness. 

"Remember  not,  Lord,  our  offenses, 
nor  the  offenses  of  our  forefathers, 
neither  take  thou  vengeance  of  our 
sins;  spare  us,  good  Lord,  spare  thy 
people,  whom  thou  hast  redeemed  with 
thy  most  precious  blood,  and  be  not 
angry  with  us  forever." 

Then  the  response,  "Spare  us,  good 
Lord, ' '  came  with  sobs. 

It  was  as  if  into  the  hearts  of  all  was 
poured  a  sudden  illumination  of  what 
this  prayer  might  come  to  mean.  Par 
son  Kneeland  was  never  again  to  kneel 
in  that  familiar  place.  Not  until  after 
20 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

the  close  of  the  war  were  prayer  and 
praise  again  to  go  up  in  this  Saintford 
church.  And  as  if  each  thought  had 
its  imagination  in  the  future,  the  sus 
pense,  the  dread,  the  suffering  human 
need  of  help  not  from  flesh  and  blood ; 
the  agony  of  partings,  the  pang  unas- 
suaged  and  unassuageable  for  cruel  loss 
which  was  to  come,  took  voice  and  was 
poured  out  with  irrepressible  force  of 
meaning. 

"From  battle  and  murder  and  from 
sudden  death" — 

"Good  Lord,  deliver  us.  " 

"From  all  sedition,  privy  conspiracy 
and  rebellion' ' — 

said  Parson  Kneeland,  with  peculiar 
emphasis,  and  the  senior  warden's 
voice  answered  sonorously, 

"Good  Lord,  deliver  us." 
21 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

"In  all  time  of  our  tribulation,  in  all 
time  of  our  wealth,  in  the  hour  of  death 
and  in  the  day  of  judgment" — 

"Good  Lord,  deliver  us." 

"We  sinners  do  beseech  thee  to  hear 
us,  O  Lord  God,  and  that  it  may  please 
thee  to  rule  and  govern  thy  holy  church 
universal  in  the  right  way. ' ' 

"We  beseech  thee  to  hear  us,  good 
Lord." 

The  Reverend  Mr.  Kneeland  had 
grown  very  pale.  He  opened  his  lips 
once  in  vain,  then  struggling  to  com 
mand  his  voice  and  fluttering  heart 
beats,  he  broke  forth : 

"That  it  may  please  thee  to  keep  and 
strengthen  in  the  true  worshiping  of 
thee,  in  righteousness  and  holiness  of 
life,  thy  servant  GEORGE,  our  most 
gracious  King  and  Governor " 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

There  was  a  rustle  and  stir.     Some 

of  the  men  in  the  congregation  were 

rising  from  their  knees.  One  man  was  on 

his  feet.    His  voice  rang  out  like  a  shot : 

.  "I  protest,"  said  Major  Marrable. 

White  faces  looked  up.  Mr.  Farring- 
ton  was  struggling  to  rise,  but  his  sons 
held  him  down  in  his  seat,  and  Cicely 
clung  to  him,  hiding  her  face. 

Parson  Kneeland,  as  if  he  would  not 
let  himself  hear,  but  must  press  on, 
began — 

"That  it  may  please  thee " 

"Stop!"  thundered  Major  Marrable, 
with  a  face  hardening  to  flint.  The 
clergyman,  slowly  and  shakily,  as  if 
benumbed,  rose  from  his  knees  and 
stood  staring. 

"In  the  name  of  our  liberties,  for 
which  we  have  to  struggle,"  said  Major 

23 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

Marrable,  "in  the  name  of  the  homes 
we  have  to  protect,  in  the  name  of  the 
Commonwealth  of  Connecticut  and  of 
the  Continental  Congress,  which  has 
declared  our  independence  of  Great 
Britain,  I  protest,  as  senior  warden  of 
this  church,  against  prayers  being 
offered  at  this  altar  for  George  the 
Third,  who  is  not  our  friend,  who  has 
proved  himself  our  bitter  enemy." 

Parson  Kneeland  was  a  tall  man. 
At  this  moment  he  towered  up  above 
the  congregation  like  an  awful  accusing 
angel,  a  frown  gathering  on  his  brow, 
his  eyes  flashing  lightnings  of  wrath. 

His  right  hand,  until  now  resting 
under  the  heavy  cover  of  the  great  folio 
prayer-book,  lifted  it  and  brought  it 
down  with  a  crash,  closing  that  page 
forevermore. 

24 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

Then  he  flung  up  both  hands,  and 
held  them  hovering  tremulously  over 
his  people,  while,  bending  forward,  he 
gave  the  benediction. 

"The  grace  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ 
and  the  love  of  God  and  the  fellowship 
of  the  Holy  Ghost  be  with  us  all  ever 
more.  Amen. ' ' 


II 

THE  parson  knelt  one  instant,  then 
sprang  up,  and  with  great  strides 
took  his  way  down  the  aisle,  his  surplice 
floating  far  behind  him,  and,  not  even 
stopping  to  enter  the  vestry,  walked 
straight  out  of  the  church  and  home  to 
the  parsonage. 

His  congregation  watched  him  depart 
with  trouble  and  confusion.  Madam 
Moulthrop,  who  had  burst  into  cries  and 
sobs,  was  led  to  her  coach  by  James 
Farrington.  The  squire,  maintaining  a 
lofty  demeanor,  offered  one  arm  to  his 
daughter,  but  on  the  other  side  he  was 
glad  to  accept  the  support  of  his  son 
27 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

Bicknell.  Morris  Marshall,  whose  face 
had  worn  a  look  of  half-malign  enjoy 
ment  of  the  scene,  stayed  behind  to  put  a 
few  questions  to  Major  Marrable  and  to 
exchange  greetings  with  Ruth  Gentry. 

Sidney  Marrable  had  followed  just 
behind  Cicely  Farrington,  as  she  went 
down  the  aisle  clinging  to  her  father, 
but  he  had  not  ventured  to  address  her. 
She  was  strangely  shaken  and  at  the 
mercy  of  conflicting  ideas,  but  he  had 
one  glance  from  her  full  of  touching 
reproach. 

"They  have  robbed  me  of  my  coun 
try,  they  have  robbed  me  of  my  king, 
and  now  they  have  robbed  me  of  my 
church,"  said  the  old  man,  as  he  sat 
down  in  his  own  seat  at  home  in  an 
attitude  of  profound  dejection. 

"But  not  of  our  God,"  said  Cicely. 
28 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

"He  is  with  us.  He  sees.  He  knows. 
He  has  patience.  Let  my  dearest  father 
try  to  wait  and  look  beyond  these  hap 
penings. " 

Mr.  Farrington  shook  his  head,  and 
remained  unconsoled  by  his  daughter's 
words.  Morris  Marshall,  entering  pres 
ently,  tried  his  best  to  make  clear  to  the 
squire  the  far-reaching  significance  of 
the  political  situation.  Marshall,  who 
had  large  estates  near  White  Plains, 
after  halting  and  debating  for  some 
months,  had  of  late  espoused  the  cause 
of  the  patriots.  He  was  a  man  apt  to 
study  his  own  profit,  and  had  not  cut 
himself  off  from  the  older  cause  out  of 
any  mere  glow  of  enthusiasm  for  the 
new.  Indeed,  the  immediate  future  of 
the  patriots  looked  to  him  very  dark, 
but  he  knew  that  the  emphatic  revolt 
29 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

of  the  colonists  was  the  manifestation 
of  something-  in  these  men  that  the 
mother-country  ignored  and  outraged. 
Why  had  men  emigrated  and  settled 
America  except  that  they  were  con 
scious  of  a  new  fiber  in  their  moral 
being  which  made  them  eager  for  free 
dom,  for  room  to  expand  each  at  his 
own  need  and  in  his  own  way?  That 
leaven  was  still  working,  and  must 
work.  It  was  indestructible. 

To  Mr.  Farrington,  however,  the 
lawless  and  riotous  conduct  of  these 
demagogues,  as  he  called  the  men  who 
were  trying  to  turn  the  world  upside 
down,  was  a  matter  of  mortification, 
grief  and  bewilderment.  It  seemed  to 
him  the  basest  ingratitude  for  the 
colonists,  after  accepting  every  sort  of 
benefit  from  the  royal  hand,  sordidly  to 

3° 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

refuse  to  pay  just  and  equitable  taxes. 
"Blind,  blind,  blind!  they  little  know 
the  fate  that  is  before  them, ' '  that  was 
Mr.  Farrington's  refrain.  They  were 
sowing  the  wind,  and  presently  would 
reap  the  whirlwind — black,  bitter,  final. 
Such  a  triumph  as  Major  Marrable  had 
just  scored  was  to  the  squire  the 
triumph  of  gross  license  over  every 
thing  worthy  and  sacred. 

Morris  Marshall  set  himself  the  task 
of  combating  this  state  of  mind. 
Major  Marrable,  on  returning  to  Saint- 
ford,  had  been  appealed  to  by  different 
members  of  the  vestry,  and  had  told 
Parson  Kneeland  that  the  prayers  for 
George  the  Third  and  the  royal  family 
must  no  longer  be  read,  and  Parson 
Kneeland  had  replied  that  it  was  for 
him  to  obey  his  bishop  according  to  the 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

canons  of  the  church,  and  that  he  could 
not  make  over  the  prayer-book  to  suit 
the  heresies  and  assumptions  of  an 
unscrupulous,  desperate  and  mischiev 
ous  faction. 

"There  are  some  men  so  blind," 
observed  Morris  Marshall,  "they  will 
not  see  what  is  taking  place  before  their 
eyes.  What  would  the  parson  think  of  a 
seaman  who,  setting  forth  from  port  with 
a  fair  wind,  will  not  alter  his  course  if 
it  changes,  trim  his  sails  and  avoid 
meeting  the  tempest  in  its  teeth?" 

Mr.  Farrington  and  his  eldest  son 
were,  however,  for  sailing  against  the 
wind.  A  man  could  not  serve  two 
masters;  acknowledge  both  a  higher 
and  a  lower  law. 

Marshall  answered  that  it  was  useless 
to  maintain  an  arbitrary  and  despotic 

32 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

tone  about  the  colonists.  It  was  as 
well  to  consider  the  stuff  of  which  they 
were  made.  Happy,  prosperous,  con 
tented  men  were  not  the  class  that  had 
emigrated.  The  Old  World  had  planted 
her  dragon's  teeth  in  these  colonies. 
The  men  were  born  to  love  fighting; 
they  were  ready  to  fight  anything,  ques 
tions  of  free-will  and  predestination, 
the  form  of  baptism,  Indians,  witches, 
stamp-acts,  governors  and  their  edicts 
— above  all,  the  king's  soldiers.  Every 
thing  with  these  New  Englanders  was 
a  matter  of  conscience,  and  in  their 
own  way  and  their  own  time  they  must 
work  out  their  own  salvation. 

"Their  own  destruction  and  the 
destruction  of  all  connected  with 
them, ' '  the  squire  returned,  with  an  air 
of  washing  his  hands  of  their  crimes. 

33 
3 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

While  this  talk  went  on,  Cicely  went 
and  came,  sometimes  pausing  to  listen 
to  her  cousin  Marshall.  The  first  rush 
of  indignation  and  alarm  at  the  event 
which  had  disturbed  the  morning  serv 
ice  had  begun  to  give  way  to  other 
feelings.  When  she  heard  Marshall  say 
that  instead  of  listening  to  the  petitions 
of  the  colonists,  instead  of  trying  to 
understand  their  grievances,  the  Brit 
ish  government  answered  them  by  still 
greater  exactions,  Cicely  felt  herself 
tingle  with  sudden  patriotic  fervor. 
She  knew  at  the  same  moment  that 
any  withdrawal  of  her  sympathy  from 
his  father's  side  would  plant  an  arrow 
in  his  heart. 

Torn  this  way  and  that,  she  went  up 
to  her  own  white  dimity-hung  room 
and  fell  on  her  knees  by  the  bedside ; 

34 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

her  hopes,  fears,  tremblings  and  long 
ings  all  merging  into  the  prayer  that 
these  troubles  might  pass — that  all  those 
whom  she  loved  might  be  safe  and 
happy  again.  While  she  still  knelt 
something  near  her  seemed  to  move. 
She  looked  up  and  lying  close  beside 
her  on  the  oaken  floor  was  a  three- 
cornered  billet  sealed  with  scarlet 
wax. 

In  all  her  life  Cicely  had  known  noth 
ing  clandestine,  and  at  the  sight  of  this 
missive,  which  must  have  flown  in  at 
the  open  window,  she  blushed  like  a 
guilty  thing.  She  looked  round  at  the 
closed  door,  started  to  her  feet,  stole  to 
the  window,  gave  a  frightened  glance, 
first  at  the  grape  trellis,  then  out  into  the 
lawn  and  garden  to  see  if  anyone  was 
in  sight.  Nothing  stirred  in  the  Sunday 

35 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

sunshine  but  the  birds  and  the  vagrant 
breeze  wandering  among  the  vines  and 
flowers.  Neither  bird  nor  breeze  could 
have  brought  the  letter.  Nevertheless 
Cicely  was  at  no  loss  to  know  whence  or 
how  it  had  come.  She  opened  it. 

"I  must  have  speech  with  Mistress 
Cicely.  I  came  yesterday  at  sunset. 
I  set  out  to-night,  for  I  need  to  be 
at  headquarters  by  noon  to-morrow. 
After  it  grows  dusk  I  shall  be  waiting 
under  the  willow  trees.  Will  Mistress 
Cicely  deign  to  meet  her  old  friend  in 
the  old  place?  She  knows  that  he 
who  asks  this  favor  asks  it  on  his 
knees.  She  knows,  too,  that  he  would 
not  ask  it  were  he  but  free  to  knock 
at  her  father's  door  and  have  leave  to 
enter." 

Had     anyone     seen?     Had     anyone 

36 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

heard?  Cicely  stole  out  and  listened  on 
the  landing  and  heard  one  voice  after 
the  other  of  the  four  men  rise  from  the 
discussion  below  in  the  hall.  With  a 
feeling  of  relief  she  now  read  the  letter 
over  again,  seeming  to  hear  Sidney's 
voice  pleading,  seeming  to  meet  his 
smiling,  tender,  yet  half-commanding 
look.  Until  to-day  she  had  not  even 
had  a  glimpse  of  him  for  more  than 
a  year.  They  had  grown  up  together, 
played  together,  studied  together.  His 
own  sense  of  possession  in  her  was  an 
swered  by  every  chord  of  feeling  in  her 
whole  nature. 

When  presently  she  descended  and 
took  her  place  at  the  dinner-table  Mor 
ris  Marshall  looked  at  her  with  a  keen 
look  of  inquiry.  He  saw  that  something 
had  happened  within  the  last  hour.  She 

37 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

had  been  pale  and  drooping.  Now  she 
seemed  to  smile  involuntarily,  her  eyes 
were  wide  open,  their  pupils  dilated, 
and  a  soft  pink  flush  suffused  her 
cheeks.  She  had  suddenly  grown  beau 
tiful,  but  he  knew  by  instinct  that  it  was 
with  a  beauty  not  born  for  him.  He 
grew  silent  and  suspicious.  He  deter 
mined  to  watch  her. 

Matters  of  moment  had  been  settled 
in  the  discussion  before  dinner.  James, 
the  eldest  son,  had  come  home  from 
Oxford  in  June  to  see  his  father  and  to 
settle  the  question  whether,  in  view  of 
the  approaching  troubles,  he  might  not 
better  abide  with  his  family.  It  was 
now  decided  that  while  there  was  yet 
time  he  should  find  an  opportunity  to 
return  to  England  in  one  of  the  trans 
ports.  Mr.  Farrington  offered  the  same 

38 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

course  to  Bicknell,  but  the  younger  son 
was  of  a  different  mind. 

Cicely  looked  from  one  to  the  other, 
mute.  She  was  suddenly  daunted  by 
the  practical  difficulties  which  rose  and 
confronted  her.  The  contradiction  be 
tween  her  childish  romance  and  the 
trials  and  perplexities  appointed  to  the 
woman  suddenly  showed  a  gap  and 
chasm  which  made  her  tremble  and 
shrink  back. 

Her  silence  passed  unnoted,  for  it 
was  her  habit.  When  the  cloth  was 
drawn  she  left  the  four  men  over  their 
port  and  madeira,  from  which,  as  the 
custom  of  the  day  was,  they  had  not 
risen  when  at  half -past  six  she  brought 
them  each  a  dish  of  tea,  offering  along 
with  it  bread  and  butter,  dried  cow's 
tongue  and  sweet  biscuits.  At  half- 

39 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

past  seven  came  prayers  for  the  house 
hold,  always  read  in  the  evening  by 
Cicely  herself.  Her  voice  faltered  a 
little  as  she  gave  the  petitions  for  the 
royal  family.  Marshall,  patriotic  al 
though  he  was,  was  also  a  man-of-the- 
world,  quarreled  with  no  man's  creed 
in  his  own  house,  and  accordingly  gave 
a  sturdy  "Amen." 

Mr.  Farrington  sat  nodding  in  his 
chair  after  devotions  were  over.  James 
and  Bicknell  went  out  to  tell  Madame 
Moulthrop  the  news  and  ask  if  she  had 
any  commands  for  England.  Marshall 
had  hoped  that  this  distribution  of  the 
family  would  give  him  a  chance  for  a 
quiet  talk  with  Cicely,  which  was  the 
real  object  of  his  visit.  What  was  his 
chagrin,  when  long  before  half-past 
eight  o'clock,  after  giving  him  only  a 
40 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

distracted  and  divided  attention,  she 
rose,  and  pleading  fatigue,  asked  her 
father's  permission  to  retire  to  her 
room. 

"I  see  no  sleep  in  your  eyes,  fair 
Cicely,"  said  Marshall,  as  he  brought 
her  candle,  looking  in  her  face  with  a 
smile  of  such  ironic  meaning  that  her 
glance  fell  beneath  his.  She  blushed 
vividly.  Her  lips  quivered.  "It  seems 
a  pity  to  waste  such  bright  looks  on  the 
darkness,"  he  continued,  his  insatiable 
glance  fastening  on  her  lovely  downcast 
face. 

' '  I  am  very  tired, ' '  she  faltered.  ' '  I 
beg  you  will  excuse  me."  She  took 
the  candle  from  him  and  went  slowly 
up  the  stairs.  Marshall's  was  a  mind 
in  which  suspicion  stirs  vulpine  insight. 
He  stood  for  a  moment  watching  the 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

girl  until  she  vanished  into  the  dark 
ness,  then  making  the  remark  to  Mr. 
Farrington  that  he  would  take  a  turn  in 
the  garden,  he  left  the  house  by  the 
back  door  of  the  hall  which  opened  into 
the  court.  The  path  from  this  led 
toward  the  east.  At  the  west  end  of  the 
large  square  colonial  house  was  a  long 
low  wing  which  contained  the  kitchen 
and  servants'  quarters.  Against  this 
wing  rested  the  grape  trellis,  and  in 
the  corner  where  wing  and  trellis  joined 
the  main  building  was  Cicely's  room. 
In  this  direction  walked  Marshall  and 
stood  looking  up.  A  light  showed 
through  the  white  curtains  which 
swayed  gently  in  the  evening  breeze. 
As  he  still  looked  up  a  slight  sound  dis 
turbed  the  stillness — not  the  chirp  of  an 
insect  or  the  note  of  a  sleepy  bird,  but 

42 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

the  unmistakable  click  of  a  bolt  shot  in 
the  little  side  door. 

Marshall  suffered  as  if  he  had  been 
struck  a  blow.  No  one  but  Cicely  could 
be  leaving  the  house  by  that  door,  for 
it  was  always  kept  jealously  locked  and 
bolted,  commanding,  as  it  did,  a  private 
staircase.  In  another  instant  a  tall, 
slim  figure  passed  him  like  the  wind. 
It  was  Cicely.  She  had  thrown  a  dark 
cloak  over  her  white  gown,  but  still  it 
was  not  wholly  concealed.  He  could 
have  put  his  hand  on  her  as  she  flew 
along  the  grape  walk. 

He  stood  motionless,  staring,  thrilling 
as  if  under  a  supreme  insult.  He  felt 
heartsick,  cruelly  humiliated.  Then 
slowly  his  anger  began  to  burn.  He 
limped  along  the  path  the  girl  had  so 
fleetly  taken,  saying  within  himself  he 

43 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

would  follow  her  and  put  her  to  shame. 
He  knew  that  it  would  count  as  a 
crime  to  all  the  Farringtons  that  Cicely 
should  be  stealing  out  like  a  kitchen- 
maid  to  meet  any  lover — but  above  all 
one  of  those  seditious  Marrables.  For 
a  moment  Marshall  knew  but  one  feel 
ing —  that  was  a  longing  to  reach 
the  girl,  strike  her  down,  disgrace 
her. 

Then  his  mood  changed.  He  stopped 
short  in  his  pursuit.  With  a  shrug  he 
recognized  the  folly  of  such  violent  emo 
tions.  Deciding  to  wait  and  watch  the 
turn  of  events  he  returned  to  the  house, 
entering  by  the  secret  door,  and  with  a 
grim  smile  bolted  it  behind  him.  It 
was  by  this  time  nine  o'clock.  The 
young  men  had  come  in  and  were  sit 
ting  with  their  father.  In  twenty  min- 

44 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

utes  more  the  entire  household  save  its 
youthful  mistress  was  in  bed. 

Cicely,  meanwhile,  after  flying  down 
the  trellis  walk,  had  kept  under  the 
shadow  of  the  garden  wall  until  she 
reached  an  open  space,  across  which 
she  scudded,  bending  low  until  she 
reached  the  group  of  willow  trees,  which 
grew  in  a  quiet  corner  of  Mr.  Farring- 
ton's  home  pasture,  and  also  overhung 
the  adjoining  place,  which  belonged  to 
Major  Marrable.  As  she  pushed  aside 
the  low  hanging  branches  she  paused 
and  seemed  afraid  to  advance.  She 
was  waited  for.  An  arm  was  thrown 
round  her;  someone,  bending  over  her, 
pressed  a  kiss  on  her  forehead,  then  on 
her  temples,  at  last  on  her  lips. 

She  tried  to  escape,  but  that  was 
nothing. 

45 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

"Why,  sweetest,"  he  whispered,  "it 
is  I." 

"Now,  Sidney—" 

"Now,  Cicely—" 

"But,  Sidney—" 

"But,  Cicely!  I  am  going  to  set  out 
before  midnight.  I  have  not  seen  you 
for  months  and  months.  Heaven  knows 
when  I  shall  see  you  again." 

"Oh,  Sidney,  my  father  is  so  angry 
with  your  father!" 

"Your  father  is  always  angry  with 
my  father.  It  is  for  us  to  make  up  the 
love  that  is  lost  between  them. ' ' 

' '  It  makes  me  feel  the  more  how  wrong, 
how  wicked  it  was  for  me  to  come. ' ' 

"It  makes  me  feel  the  more  your 
goodness  in  coming." 

"I  had  no  other  way  of  answering 
your  note." 

46 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

"You  did  as  you  were  bidden,  sweet," 
he  laughed.  "You  knew  very  well  that 
either  you  had  to  come  to  me  or  I 
should  have  braved  your  father's  wrath 
and  gone  to  you." 

In  spite  of  the  strength  of  the  young 
fellow's  impetuous  clasp  Cicely  had  by 
this  time  withdrawn  from  him.  Her 
cloak  fell  to  the  ground  and  she  stood 
before  him  touched  by  the  low  straight 
beams  of  the  rising  moon  into  lumi 
nous  whiteness. 

"Oh,  you  angel,"  he  cried,  ready  to 
fall  at  her  feet. 

"How  could  your  father  break  into 
the  divine  service?"  Cicely  now  asked 
with  passionate  indignation.  "Is  noth 
ing  to  be  held  sacred?" 

' '  I  told  him  to  let  the  parson  go  on. 
George  the  Third  needs  the  benefit  of 

47 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

all  the  prayers  we  can  offer  for  him, 
sinner  that  he  is." 

"Oh,  Sidney!" 

"It  was  the  'king  and  governor'  that 
stuck  in  the  throat.  George  the  Third 
will  never  more  be  king  or  governor  in 
this  commonwealth. " 

"Oh,  Sidney,  you  say  such  terrible 
things!" 

"I  mean  to  speak  the  truth,  God  help 
me." 

"But  I  love  England  with  all  my 
heart." 

"With  #//your  heart,  sweet?" 

Cicely  laughed  slightly  and  leaned  a 
little  toward  him  as  he  clasped  her 
hands. 

"Ruth  Gentry  was  telling  me  to-day 
that  you  cared  only  for  England  and 
that  you  would  no  doubt  find  a  husband 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

among  the  British  officers  who  are  com 
ing  over  to  coerce  us." 

"What  did  you  tell  her?" 

"What  did  I  tell  Ruth?  Do  you  sup 
pose  I  could  bring  myself  to  say  to  her 
what  I  hardly  dare  say  to  myself  in 
thought — that  it  is  not  a  British  officer 
you  care  for?  Sometimes  I  pluck  up  a 
stout  heart — I  say  to  myself  that  by  the 
time  we  have  gained  our  liberties  I 
hope  to  have  something  to  offer  you." 

"Tell  me  what  else  Ruth  Gentry 
said,"  murmured  Cicely. 

"It  was  an  envious  fling  at  your 
beauty  so  well  set.  She  asked  me  if 
you  ought  to  walk  in  silks  and  brocades 
as  if  you  were  going  to  court  while 
good  patriots  are  patiently  pinching 
and  saving  for  the  cause. ' ' 

"What  answer  did  you  make?" 

49 

4 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

"Cicely,  I  make  no  answer  when  Ruth 
and  my  mother  find  fault  with  you. 
They  are  jealous  that  when  I  come 
back  I  have  hardly  a  word  to  utter,  that 
good  food  might  as  well  be  thrown  to 
the  dogs  as  wasted  on  me ; — that  I  lie 
tossing  on  my  bed.  To  be  within  a  few 
rods  of  you,  yet  not  to  be  free  to  see 
you,  to  hear  you,  to  touch  even  your 
hand,  makes  me  ill  company  for  those 
who  like  good  meals  and  lively  talk. " 

"But  cousin  Marshall  was  saying  to 
day  that  he  saw  signs  of  you  and  Ruth 
being  lovers,"  faltered  Cicely. 

To  find  Cicely  jealous  gave  Sidney 
the  sweetest  triumph  of  his  life.  It  was 
the  wish  of  his  mother's  heart  that  he 
should  marry  Ruth,  who  was  a  distant 
cousin  and  an  adopted  daughter,  but  he 
had  always  been  in  love  with  Cicely, 

5° 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

even  while  he  knew  that  Mr.  Farring- 
ton  would  consider  it  presumption  that 
the  son  of  one  of  his  plain  neighbors 
should  raise  his  eyes  to  the  only  daughter 
of  his  house.  Now  that  the  war  had 
come  with  its  tangible  rewards  to  strive 
for,  the  young  fellow's  imagination 
clapped  its  wings  and  soared. 

"Ask  your  cousin  Marshall  what  a 
man  is  to  do  when  a  timid  girl  reaches 
out  her  hand  for  protection,"  Sidney 
now  explained.  "Ruth  is  my  kins 
woman,  and  I  had  not  the  wish  nor  the 
will  not  to  answer  her  appeal.  She  was 
cruelly  frightened  when  my  father 
spoke  out.  But  Cicely — Cicely,  surely 
I  do  not  need  to  tell  you  that  she  is  only 
my  cousin,  my  adopted  sister.  Do  I 
need  to  swear  on  my  knees  that — " 

"No,  no,  no,"  cried  Cicely.     "I  am 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

not  always  as  noble  as  I  should  be — and 
Ruth — Ruth  is  so  pretty,  so — ' ' 

"Do  I  wish  to  praise  Ruth's  beauty? 
Did  I  come  here  to  talk  about  Ruth?" 

"  It  is  all  my  fault, ' '  murmured  Cicely, 
stricken. 

"Yes,  it  is  all  your  fault  that  I  care 
for  no  other  girl  under  heaven  save 
Cicely  Farrington — that  if  I  have  a 
word  of  praise  I  think  to  myself,  'If 
Cicely  could  but  hear  this?'  If  my 
horse  carries  me  well  I  say,  'I  wish 
Cicely  could  see  me. '  When  I  seem  to 
be  in  the  way  of  advancement  I  dare 
think,  'It  is  all  for  Cicely.'  Do  you 
begin  to  know  how  I  love  you?  Do  you 
ever  try  to  guess  why  I  love  you? 
It  is  partly  because  you  just  seem  to 
belong  to  me,  and  partly  too,  because 
you  are  so  fair,  so  divine,  so  grand  a 

52 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

lady  above  them  all.  Cicely,  oh,  my 
beautiful  Cicely,  if  I  have  something 
fully  worth  offering  you,  will  you  be 
hiy  wife?" 

Resisting  ever  so  little  his  fervor  she 
all  the  time  withdrew  from  him.  He 
could  see  her  face,  clear  and  pure  in 
the  white  moonlight. 

"I  will  be  your  wife,"  she  said,  with 
intense  solemnity. 

He  fell  on  his  knees  before  her.  His 
tenderness  overflowing. 

"Oh,  my  wife,  my  wife,  my  wife,"  he 
murmured,  lifting  his  hands  in  adora 
tion.  Her  slim  fingers  fluttered  into 
his.  "Oh,  I  love  your  little  hands — 
your  little  wrists.  Oh,  surely  I  worship 
you.  Though  I  don't  believe  in  kings, 
you  are  my  princess,  my  queen!  I 
grovel  at  your  feet  before  you.  I  am 

53 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

kissing  your  buckles.  Put  your  shoe  on 
my  neck.  Let  me  feel  myself  your  ac 
cepted  vassal." 

An  irresistible  little  girlish  laugh 
broke  from  Cicely.  For  one  moment  in 
her  life,  happy  spontaneous  girlish 
coquetry  governed  her  mood.  Romance, 
too,  tinged  her  imagination.  Light  as 
thistledown  her  foot  touched  his  neck. 

"Rise,  Sir  Sidney  Marrable,"  she 
said,  gaily. 

But  her  gaiety  lasted  only  for  an 
instant.  The  watchman's  cry  sounded 
from  the  street. 

"Past  ten  o'clock.  A  fair,  clear 
night,  and  all's  well." 

Cicely's  heart  began  to  beat  with 
apprehension. 

"I  must  go  in, "  she  said, with  decision. 

Yes,  she  must  go  in,  but  she  was  his 

54 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

promised  wife  and  parting  was  not  too 
easy.  What  wonder  if  they  still  lin 
gered  under  the  grape  trellis.  He  be 
lieved  in  the  cause ;  he  believed  in  its 
success;  he  believed  in  himself;  he  felt 
capable  of  carrying  through  whatever 
he  undertook,  yet  perhaps  within 
twenty-four  hours  he  would  be  in  battle. 

"Good-by,"  she  whispered,  as  they 
reached  the  little  vine-covered  doorway. 

"I  will  wait  until  you  wave  to  me 
from  your  window. ' ' 

"Good-by,"  she  said  once  more. 

She  drew  the  cloak  closer  about  her. 
Her  hand  was  on  the  latch  of  the  door, 
which  she  had  left  ajar. 

He  could  hear  her  pressing  against 
the  frame.  Following  her  he  tried  his 
own  strength. 

"It  is  bolted,"  he  said. 

55 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

Something  nameless  and  measureless 
seemed  to  draw  near  her  and  threaten. 
Who  had  bolted  it?  He  was  looking 
into  her  pallid  face. 

"The  other  doors  are  sure  to  be  fas 
tened?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,  and  they  are  close  under  my 
father's  and  brothers'  rooms." 

She  sank  down  on  the  step  in  agita 
tion.  The  thought  of  her  father,  of  her 
brothers,  who  had  believed  in  her — 
who  had  looked  up  to  her — showed  her 
the  fault  she  had  committed. 

For  an  instant  Sidney's  brain  had 
whirled,  then  in  a  flash  it  cleared. 

"Wait  here  one  instant,"  he  whis 
pered.  Even  while  he  spoke  he  was 
pulling  off  his  heavy  riding-boots. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do?"  she 
demanded,  fearfully. 

56 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

"Luckily,  I  knew  the  house.  I  have 
been  up  the  trellis  already  once  today." 

The  horror  of  those  long  minutes 
while  she  waited  persisted  like  a  phy 
sical  chill  for  days  afterward.  She 
drew  her  breath  in  pain  while  Sydney, 
with  the  agile  habit  of  the  boy  he  really 
was,  climbed  up  the  trellis,  the  top  of 
which  was  almost  on  a  level  with  the 
window  of  Cicely's  bedchamber.  There 
was,  however,  a  gap  of  some  eight  feet 
and  this  he  had  to  leap.  The  lattice 
was,  as  usual,  open  to  the  summer  air, 
and  Sidney,  raising  his  figure  to  its  full 
height  on  the  edge  of  the  arbor,  braced 
himself  for  the  spring,  then  in  another 
second  was  scrambling  over  the  broad 
ledge. 

Cicely  was  almost  fainting  when  she 
heard  the  bolt  pushed  from  inside. 

57 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

The  door  opened.  Sidney  was  bending 
over  her. 

"Sweetest,  forgive  me,"  he  whis 
pered,  "but  you  will  find  a  kiss  from 
me  on  your  pillow." 

"Oh,  Sidney,  if  you  had  met  my 
father,  my  brothers!" 

"I  met  nobody;  and  if  I  had,  what 
matter?  You  are  Cicely  Farrington  and 
I  am  Sidney  Marrable." 

He  raised  her  hand  to  his  lips,  gently 
thrust  her  inside  the  door  and  closed  it. 
He  waited  until  he  saw  her  figure  at  the 
window  above,  then  drew  on  his  boots, 
and  prepared  for  his  night  ride  back  to 
General  Washington's  headquarters. 


Ill 

PEACE  hush  this  dismal  din  of 
arms.  January  4,  1778,"  Cicely 
Farrington  wrote  with  the  diamond  of 
her  mother's  ring  on  one  of  the  panes 
of  the  window  whose  open  casement 
Sidney  had  entered  that  July  night 
long  before. 

The  Revolutionary  War  has  been  mat 
ter  of  history  for  a  century.  Cicely's 
vital  frame  was  long  since  crumbled  to 
dust  in  the  family  vault  at  Saintford, 
but  still  that  passionate  sigh  of  love  and 
longing  and  suspense  makes  its  mean 
ing  clear  as  we  trace  those  words  on  the 

59 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

glass.  We  can  fancy  Cicely  stealing 
up  to  the  refuge  of  her  room  away 
from  visitors  who  oppressed ;  from  her 
father's  querulous  cravings  and  ques 
tionings,  which  she  could  not  answer; 
from  news  which  made  her  heart  leap 
to  her  throat.  There,  she  could  always 
find  a  sustaining  thought  of  Sidney 
Marrable.  She  had  only  to  close  her 
eyes  to  see  the  handsome  young  head, 
with  its  clustering  curls,  bending  to  kiss 
her  pillow. 

That  incident  had  not  been  without 
its  sequel. 

When,  on  the  Monday  morning,  she 
encountered  Morris  Marshall,  she  saw 
in  his  ironic  smile,  she  heard  in  his 
mocking  voice  as  he  asked,  "Did  you 
sleep  well,  fair  Cicely?"  that  he  had 
her  secret. 

60 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

He  had  hardly  reckoned  on  the  girl's 
courage  and  spirit. 

Her  upper  lip  took  an  acute  lift  in  its 
curve,  the  flash  of  her  eyes  went  through 
him. 

"It  was  my  Cousin  Marshall  who 
bolted  the  little  door  last  night,"  she 
said,  with  perfect  steadiness.  "God 
forgive  him  and  give  him  a  better 
heart. ' '  Their  eyes  met  and  she  saw  that 
the  glance  of  the  strong  man  faltered 
before  hers.  "You  must  have  forgotten 
that  I  was  the  motherless  girl  of  your 
dead  cousin,  that  you  are  my  father's 
guest — that  I  am  your  hostess. ' ' 

For  a  moment  Marshall,  taken  by  sur 
prise,  was  ready  to  be  ashamed  of  the 
part  he  had  played.  Then  the  thought 
of  the  callow  youngster  preferred  before 
him  made  him  bitter. 
61 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

"If  I  am  your  mother's  cousin,  your 
father's  guest;  if  you  are  both  my  kins 
woman  and  my  hostess,  I  am  the  more 
jealous  for  your  honor,"  he  replied 
gravely.  "lachimo  in  my  Imogen's 
bed-chamber — ' ' 

"My  honor  is  not  in  the  question," 
said  Cicely.  "I  admit  that  I  was  foolish 
and  imprudent  to  go  out  to  see  Sidney. 
Never  before  have  I  done  such  a  thing, 
and  this  lesson  has  taught  me  never 
again  to  leave  the  safe  shelter  of  my 
father's  house.  But  these  troubles  have 
brought  new  times  and  new  times  have 
brought  new  manners. ' ' 

"Say  no  more,"  cried  Marshall,  as  if 
smitten  with  remorse.  "Forgive  the 
part  I  played — by  chance.  I  give  you 
my  word,  Cousin  Cicely,  that  as  I  was 
returning  from  a  stroll  in  the  garden 
62 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

I  saw  that  the  side  door  was  open,  and, 
supposing  it  had  been  left  ajar  for 
my  convenience,  I  entered,  fastening  it 
behind  me.  I  went  to  bed,  but  could 
not  fall  asleep.  Then  there  came  the 
soiind  of  the  latch  being  tried.  I  heard 
whispers  outside.  I  rose,  dressed,  was 
about  to  descend,  when  I  saw  issuing 
from  the  door  of  your  bedroom — " 

"Sidney  was  my  constant  playmate," 
faltered  Cicely.  "As  a  boy  he  had 
climbed  up  that  trellis  again  and  again. 
He  knows  every  inch  of  the  house.  He — J ' 

"But  if  it  had  been  your  father,  or 
one  of  your  brothers,  who  saw  him  as  I 
saw  him — " 

He  looked  at  her  blushing,  troubled, 
tremulous  face.  He  took  her  hand 
between  his. 

"We  will  think  of  it  no  more.     I  will 

63 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

speak  of  it  to  no  one,"  he  said.  Then  as 
if  to  ratify  his  promise  he  bent  his  head 
and  glued  his  lips  to  her  hand. 

She  shrank  from  the  caress,  even 
while  she  gave  him  credit  for  magnanim 
ity.  She  was  grateful  for  his  silence, 
for  she  realized  almost  painfully  her 
own  imprudence.  She  was  at  first 
inclined  to  be  glad  that  Marshall  at  last 
knew  that  she  had  an  accepted  lover. 
She  hoped  that  his  long  glances,  his 
flatteries,  his  confidences  would  now 
cease.  Cicely  was  to  find  out  that  she 
had  given  him  certain  intimate  rights 
he  had  never  ventured  to  claim  before. 
Marshall  was  two-and-thirty  years  of 
age;  so  old,  to  Cicely's  youthful  imagi 
nation,  that  his  wish  to  marry  her 
seemed  an  unimportant  factor  in  the 
situation.  He  had  been  in  love  with 

64 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

her  ever  since  she  was  sixteen.  He 
had  an  adroit  way,  when  he  passed  the 
bounds  of  her  concession,  of  suddenly 
effacing  his  passion,  as  it  were,  and 
becoming  instead  of  a  suppliant,  with 
a  soft  pulse  for  charm  and  sweetness, 
an  earnest  man,  bent  upon  important 
business,  with  little  time  or  inclination 
for  love-making.  She  realized  very 
little  of  Marshall's  pertinacity,  and 
could  still  less  have  believed  that  his 
present  patience  was  born  of  his  hope 
that  the  chances  of  war  would  soon 
rid  him  of  his  rival. 

The  stream  of  events  carried  Mar 
shall  away  from  Saintford,  and  Bicknell 
Farrington  with  him.  James  had 
gone  back  to  continue  his  terms  in  Eng 
land.  But  the  younger  brother  said  to 
his  father: 

65 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

"I  never  was  in  England.  So  far  as 
I  know  England  never  did  anything  for 
me.  I  was  born  here,  and  I  expect  to 
die  here.  You  have  always  told  me, 
sir,  that  a  man  ought  always  to  be  ready 
to  fight  for  his  country.  I  am  going  to 
fight  for  mine." 

Marshall,  although  too  severely  crip 
pled  to  be  a  soldier,  had  a  brevet  title, 
ranked  as  major,  and  had  often 
served  as  a  staff-officer.  He  had  hoped 
and  expected  to  find  early  promotion 
for  Bicknell  Farrington,  but  the  poor 
boy  was  picked  off  by  a  shot  from  a 
picket  while  making  a  reconnoissance 
before  the  battle  of  White  Plains.  It- 
was  Sidney  Marrable  who  laid  the  dead 
boy  across  his  own  saddle  and  bore  him 
back  to  camp.  Sidney,  broken-hearted 
at  having  done  so  little  for  Cicely's 
66 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

brother,  for  whom  he  had  wished  to  do 
so  much,  flung  himself  on  Morris  Mar 
shall's  neck  and  cried  like  a  child.  He 
little  guessed  in  what  jealous  wrath  the 
emotion  that  convulsed  the  older  man 
had  its  impulse.  Marshall  cried  out 
against  fate  that  the  bullet  had  not 
found  its  billet  in  Sidney  Marrable's 
breast  instead  of  Bicknell  Farrington's. 
Bicknell's  life  was  desirable,  while  Mar 
shall  longed  with  an  increasing  passion 
of  longing  to  see  Sidney  Marrable  lie, 
stretched  out  white  and  rigid,  staring  up 
at  the  sky.  It  seemed  impossible  that 
any  man  who  set  so  slight  a  value  upon 
life  as  Sidney  seemed  to  do  should  come 
out  of  the  war  in  safety.  He  asked  to 
be  sent  wherever  there  was  to  be  fight 
ing.  General  Washington  had  observed 
of  the  ambitious  youngster  that  it  was 
67 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

sometimes  useful  to  have  a  man  at  one's 
elbow  who  did  not  know  what  "impos 
sible"  meant. 

Bicknell  had  been  deeply  beloved  and 
was  deeply  mourned  at  home.  Saintford 
people  might  well  grow  more  tender  to 
the  Farringtons  now  that  they  had 
given  a  son  and  brother  to  the  cause  of 
independence.  Indeed,  in  their  case,  the 
hatred  and  suspicion  often  felt  against 
tories  had  never  defined  itself  into 
active  hostility.  It  had  even  been  con 
sidered  charitable  to  wink  at  Parson 
Kneeland  (he  only  survived  the  closing 
of  his  church  two  years)  for  reading 
prayers  in  Mr.  Farrington's  dining- 
room  on  Sunday  mornings  for  the 
benefit  of  Madam  Moulthrop  and  a 
few  others.  Most  of  the  Saintford 
people  attended  the  meeting-house 
68 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

nowadays.  Cicely  wrote  to  Sidney 
Marrable : 

"Old  Ponto  is  exercised  in  his  mind 
because  the  church-bell  is  silent  when 
the  meeting-house  bell  rings.  He  walks 
forth  on  a  Sunday,  but  when  he  beholds 
the  people  flocking  up  the  hill,  he  sniffs 
with  disdain  and  lies  down  on  the  mill 
stone  before  the  church  door  until  he 
sees  the  neighbors  go  home  again.  He 
is  neither  Calvinist  nor  Puritan,  not  he. 
But  oh,  my  frienci,  how  long  it  seems 
since  that  Sunday  morning." 

"How  long  it  seems  since  that  Sun 
day  evening,  sweetheart,"  Sidney  wrote 
back  from  the  camp  at  Valley  Forge. 
"But  perhaps  by  the  time  we  tell 
our  children  and  our  children's  children 
what  we  have  suffered,  it  will  be  clear 
to  us  that  the  sacrifice  has  not  been  in 
69 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

vain.  The  chaplain  preached  before 
his  excellency  last  Sunday  on  the  text, 
'For  I  reckon  that  the  sufferings  of  the 
present  time  are  not  worthy  to  be  com 
pared  with  the  glory  that  shall  be 
revealed  to  us. '  Kiss  the  white  spot  on 
Ponto's  head  for  me  and  tell  him  I  love 
him  for  being  faithful  to  church  and 
king  just  as  I  love  his  mistress  for  being 
faithful  to  what  she  was  brought  up  to 
reverence.  Faith  is  not  to  be  worn  like 
the  fashion  of  a  hat  that  ever  change th 
with  the  next  block,  as  we  read  in  the 
play  that  day,  sweet.  Dost  remember? 
Oh,  to  sit  in  a  room  warmed  by  a  fire, 
to  sleep  in  a  bed  beneath  a  roof,  to  eat 
food  well  cooked  and  well  served. 
Seven  of  us  lay  on  the  ground  last  night 
with  a  little  straw  for  softness  and 
warmth  under  a  tent  six  by  seven — 
70 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

stretched  out  like  candles  in  a  box,  for 
we  loved  not  our  neighbors,  and  when 
one  man  got  cramps  the  seven  of  us  had 
to  turn  over,  and  as  each  man's  cramps 
came  at  a  different  moment  there  were 
few  intervals  of  peace  and  comfort.  If 
one  could  always  be  going  into  battle 
with  drums  beating  and  flags  flying  it 
would  be  worth  while  being  a  soldier." 
Cicely  had  not  told  Sidney  that  she 
had  found  it  impossible  since  Bicknell 
was  killed  to  say  "Amen"  when  Parson 
Kneeland  read  the  prayers  for  the  royal 
family.  The  girl's  tenderness  and  keen 
fellow-feeling  for  the  absent  might 
have  drawn  her  toward  Sidney's  mother, 
but  that  good  dame  was  no  friend  to 
Cicely.  One  day,  however,  when  a 
neighbor  had  mentioned  that  if  Sidney 
Marrable  recovered  from  his  wounds  he 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

was  likely  to  be  promoted  for  his  gal 
lant  conduct  at  the  battle  of  Princeton, 
Cicely  was  little  more  than  a  beating 
heart  and  palpitating  nerve  until  she 
could  set  out  to  learn  the  truth.  She 
met  Ruth  Gentry  issuing  from  Mrs. 
Marrable's  door. 

"Miss  Cicely  Farrington  coming  to 
visit  plain  patriots !"  Ruth  cried,  rais 
ing  her  hands  in  mock  surprise.  She 
stood  on  the  stone  steps  dressed  in 
a  heavy  gray  woolen  homespun,  with 
a  little  close  hood  of  the  same  edged 
with  squirrel's  fur.  Her  bright  rosy 
cheeks,  her  laughing  lips  and  eyes 
made  Cicely  feel  sad  and  old  in  com 
parison. 

"Oh,  Ruth,"  she  faltered,  reaching 
out  both  hands,  "I  came  to  ask  about 
Sidney." 

72 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

Ruth  looked  with  surprise  at  Cicely's 
tearful,  quivering  face. 

"What  am  I  to  tell  you  about  Sid 
ney?"  she  asked,  with  a  little  toss  of 
the  head. 

"Is  he  wounded?" 

"That  was  a  month  ago.  I  had  a 
letter  from  him  to-day. ' ' 

"Oh,  what  did  he  say?" 

Ruth  bridled.  "Do  you  suppose  he 
would  wish  me  to  tell  you?"  she  asked, 
with  her  coquettish  air. 

"Sidney  and  I  are  old  friends," 
Cicely  answered,  recovering  her  self- 
command.  ' '  I  only  wish  to  be  assured 
of  his  good  health. ' ' 

"He  is  well  enough  to  be  on  the  gen 
eral's  staff!"  said  Ruth,  triumphantly 
— "his  excellency  the  commander-in- 
chief's  staff." 

73 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

Snow  covered  the  ground.  The  sky 
was  gray,  the  horizon  purple,  more 
snow  was  to  come  and  Cicely  perhaps 
experienced  its  chill,  for  all  the  rest  of 
that  day  and  evening  she  felt  benumbed 
and  the  sensation  persisted  of  a  cold 
clutch  upon  her  heart.  She  was  haunted 
by  the  recollection  of  Ruth's  bright, 
piquant  face.  She  would  not  permit 
herself  to  be  jealous,  but  there  was  a 
passionate  cry  within  her. 

"He  ought  to  have  sent  me  word.  If 
he  could  write  to  Ruth  he  could  have 
written  to  me." 

If  she  could  have  been  permitted 
some  intimate  fellowship  of  feeling 
with  Mrs.  Marrable  and  Ruth!  But 
they  suspected  her,  disliked  her,  calum 
niated  her. 

It  was  well  that  Cicely  had  little  time 

74 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

for  brooding  over  her  separation  from 
Sidney  and  her  isolation  among  her 
neighbors.  All  her  invention,  skill,  and 
resource  were  necessary  to  maintain 
the  household  on  anything  like  its  old 
basis  of  thrift,  not  to  say  elegance. 
Money  or  bond  brought  in  few  and 
scant  returns  nowadays ;  rents  were  no 
longer  paid,  cargoes  were  lost  or  con 
fiscated.  The  army  commissariat,  bare 
as  it  was,  took  up  all  available  stores  of 
medicine,  food  and  forage.  Instead  of 
a  houseful  of  black  servants  Cicely  had 
but  two  inside  and  two  outside,  for  two 
had  gone  with  poor  Bicknell  and  had 
stayed  on ;  others  had  run  away  to  fol 
low  the  camps,  where  they  found  em 
ployment  as  cooks,  body  servants  or 
orderlies.  Mr.  Farrington's  energies 
were  paralyzed  by  grief  and  bewilder- 

75 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

ment.  He  seemed  suddenly  an  old 
man.  Not  only  the  supervision  of  the 
house,  but  of  the  plowing,  planting, 
hoeing  and  harvesting  came  upon  Cicely, 
for  never  had  the  whole  possible  yield 
of  the  farm  and  garden  been  needed  as 
now.  It  was  Cicely  who  kept  up  the  rear 
ing  of  beeves,  pigs,  fowls ;  who  looked 
to  the  killing  and  curing.  The  making 
of  maple  sugar  had  become  a  matter  of 
importance ;  the  preserving  and  drying 
of  fruit,  in  fact  the  converting  of  what 
ever  product  into  what  could  serve  as 
food  and  drink  was  the  foremost  duty 
of  the  moment.  And  in  those  early  days 
it  might  well  be  said  that  the  fertile 
earth  had  but  to  be  scratched  and  seed 
put  in  to  laugh  with  teeming  harvests. 
The  fruit  trees,  native  and  imported, 
bent  to  the  earth  laden.  The  Farring- 
76 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

ton  storeroom  and  larder  soon  became 
the  center  of  supplies  for  the  village. 
Cicely  had  long  since  counted  the  dwin 
dling  bottles  of  port,  madeira,  sherry 
and  cognac,  and  put  them  away.  Who 
could  tell  what  need  might  come  for 
good  wine?  She  brewed  beer,  made 
cider,  cherry  bounce,  elder  flower, 
blackberry  and  currant  wine. 

It  was  Mr.  Farrington's  one  source 
of  pride  nowadays  that  Cicely  kept  up 
the  traditions  of  the  house,  and  flaunted, 
as  it  were,  English  thrift  and  plenty  in 
the  face  of  their  neighbors,  who  lived 
from  hand  to  mouth,  yet  foolishly  went 
on  cutting  themselves  off  from  their 
rich  birthright  to  accept  a  miserable 
mess  of  pottage. 

Then  the  spinning  and  the  weaving 
that  went  on  day  and  night.  "Thirty 

77 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

run  of  hand-spun  linen  yarn,  together 
with  two  hams,  a  bag  of  potatoes  and  a 
barrel  of  cornmeal, "  was  Cicely's  con 
tribution  to  the  salary  of  the  minister 
who  preached  the  gospel  at  the  meet 
ing-house  on  the  hill. 

Cicely  put  into  these  activities  not 
only  the  resources,  but  the  wit  and 
even  the  charm  which  women  of  her 
family  in  other  generations  had  given 
to  the  life  of  the  drawing-room. 

Once  a  committee  waited  upon  her  to 
find  fault  with  her  dress.  Considering 
the  serious  state  of  public  affairs,  the 
necessity  for  frugality,  did  she  not  see 
that  she  was  setting  a  bad  example  by 
dressing  in  rich  clothes?  they  asked  her. 

Cicely  listened  quietly. 

"Since  I  grew  tall  enough  to  wear  my 
mother's  gowns  I  have  not  had  anything 

78 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

new,"  she  said,  when  they  waited  for 
her  answer.  "It  seemed  the  best 
economy  to  use  what  is  in  the  house." 

They  said  no  more,  but  again,  hearing 
that  a  dish  of  tea  was  always  served  to 
the  squire  in  the  afternoon,  a  second 
deputation  came  to  remonstrate  with 
Cicely  upon  the  use  of  "the  noxious 
herb,"  which  in  these  times  could 
only  be  obtained  through  unpatriotic 
sources. 

"Let  me  give  you  a  dish  of  tea  and 
you  shall  judge,"  said  Cicely,  and 
before  their  eyes  she  brewed  a  pot  and 
served  it  to  each  in  a  handsome  china 
cup  with  cream  and  sugar. 

They  tasted  it  grimly,  with  an  air  of 
indulging  in  forbidden  luxuries. 

"Is  it  pleasant  and  to  your  taste?" 
she  inquired,  archly. 

79 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

Far  too  pleasant  for  honest  patriots 
to  indulge  in. 

Cicely  laughed,  opened  her  canister 
and  showed  them  the  leaves. 

' '  These  herbs  did  not  grow  in  China, ' ' 
she  said.  "You  may  see  me  hunting 
for  them  like  an  old  witch  for  her  sim 
ples.  Sage  and  thyme  grow  in  the 
garden  bed,  and  I  mix  with  them  a  bit 
of  catnip,  a  touch  of  pennyroyal,  and 
sometimes  a  little  boneset.  " 

Cicely  enjoyed  her  triumphant  repar 
tee,  but  she  knew  that  she  had  enemies 
who  set  these  forces  working  against 
her,  and  more  than  once  word  came  to 
her  that  it  was  Mrs.  Marrable  and 
Ruth  Gentry  who  had  tried  to  injure 
her  with  the  townspeople.  But  she  had 
her  work  to  do,  her  duty  to  her  father 
to  fulfill,  and  if  Sidney  only  kept  his 
80 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

faith  through  this  long  separation  other 
things  might  wait. 

Morris  Marshall,  who  acted  very  often 
as  bearer  of  dispatches  between  Wash 
ington's  headquarters  and  different 
military  posts  in  New  England,  always 
stopped  on  his  way  at  the  Farringtons'. 
He  could  talk  of  the  dead  boy-soldier. 
He  brought  them,  besides  the  news  of 
both  armies,  the  news  of  the  world,  and 
often  English  newspapers  had  found 
their  way  into  his  saddle-bags,  and  gave 
Mr.  Farrington  a  melancholy  satisfac 
tion.  Marshall  tried  as  well  to  make 
Cicely  smile  over  some  of  the  stories  he 
told  her;  how  when  on  one  occasion 
his  excellency  had  invited  some  visiting 
generals  and  their  aides  to  a  camp-din 
ner,  eighteen  in  all  had  sat  down  to  a 
long  table,  on  one  end  of  which  was  a 

81 
6 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

dish  of  salt  pork  and  on  the  other  of 
boiled  beef,  between  them  a  dozen  po 
tatoes  flanked  by  a  few  beets ;  nothing 
more  save  a  few  pies  made  of  green 
apples.  Again  Marshall  recounted  how 
he  happened  to  be  riding  with  the  com- 
mander-in-chief  when  they  grew  thirsty 
and  stopped  at  a  farm  house  to  ask 
for  a  drink  from  the  well.  The  farmer's 
wife  recognized  the  general  and  sug 
gested  that  she  had  made  some  cherry 
bounce  which  her  husband  considered 
excellent.  "By  all  means,  madam," 
said  his  Excellency,  "Let  us  drink  your 
good  health  in  the  cherry  bounce. ' '  The 
good  woman  ran  to  bring  it,  but  con 
fusion  covered  her  when  she  produced 
the  glasses,  for  they  were  stamped  with 
the  image  of  George  the  Third.  "I 
have  no  others,"  she  faltered. 
82 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

"Excellent  glasses  and  a  very  good 
likeness,  I  should  imagine,"  said  his 
Excellency,  as  he  drank  a  bumper  of  the 
cordial.  "I  should  like  his  majesty  to 
know  what  aid  and  comfort  he  has  given 
to  General  Washington. " 

It  was  impossible  that  Cicely  should 
not  feel  her  burden  of  loneliness  lifted 
when  Marshall  came.  The  state  of 
affairs  seemed  less  wholly  grim,  des 
perate  and  tragic  when  he  gave  these 
humorous  touches  to  his  accounts  of 
army  life.  He  never  but  once  spoke  of 
Sidney  Marrable;  then  it  was  to  say 
that  he  was  the  bearer  of  a  letter  from 
the  young  aide  to  Ruth  Gentry,  which 
he  had  promised  to  deliver  in  person. 
It  sometimes  nowadays  seemed  to 
Cicely  no  easy  matter  to  make  the  idea 
of  Sidney  real  to  herself.  Then  in  such 

83 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

moments,  feeling  the  smart  and  bruise 
of  such  a  disappointment  as  this  that 
Marshall  had  prepared  for  her,  she 
would  go  down  the  grape-trellis  walk, 
along  the  garden  wall  to  the  shady 
nook  under  the  willows,  and  the  realiza 
tion  that  she  loved  Sidney  and  that  he 
loved  her  would  come  back  with  a  rush. 
Time  wore  on.  A  few  men  who  loved 
ease  and  a  safe  hearth  better  than  the 
turmoil  of  battle  stayed  on  in  Saintford 
' '  to  protect  the  women, ' '  as  they  explain 
ed.  Some  of  these  were  a  little  luke 
warm  in  the  cause  of  independence; 
others,  and  Uriel  Coxe  for  one,  over 
flowed  with  patriotic  feeling.  If  Uriel 
could  have  made  up  his  mind  just  where 
to  concentrate  his  powers  so  as  to  make 
them  most  felt  he  would  have  enlisted 
long  before. 

84 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

"There's  too  many  marchings  here 
and  too  many  marchings  there,"  he 
would  say,  "to  suit  me.  I'm  a  goin'  to 
be  on  one  campaign,  howsoever,  before 
the  final  lickin'  we  give  the  British 
comes." 

Then  again  Uriel  would  exclaim :  "  Ef 
I  could  be  commander-in-chief  of  the 
Continental  army  one  week,"  making 
it  clear  that  the  haltings,  the  manoeu- 
verings,  the  feints,  the  withdrawings, 
which  had  enabled  General  Washington, 
even  through  the  direst  straits,  to  keep 
the  field  against  overwhelming  odds, 
were  not  to  his,  Uriel  Coxe's,  mind. 
He  wanted  to  hurl  one  tremendous 
column  on  the  enemy  in  New  York, 
he  wanted  to  hurl  another  tremendous 
column  on  the  enemy  in  Philadelphia, 
and  still  another  tremendous  column  on 

85 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

the  enemy  in  South  Carolina,  so  that  the 
benighted  British  should  be  glad  to 
take  to  their  ships,  sail  away  and  never 
return. 

It  was  supposed  that  Saintford  con 
tained  a  good  many  tories.  Mr.  Far- 
rington  and  Madam  Moulthrop  were 
well  known  to  be  over-devoted  to  the 
cause  of  the  mother  country.  There 
were  others  who  halted,  waiting  to  see 
which  way  the  tide  would  turn. 

"It  reminds  me,"  said  Uriel  Coxe,  "of 
Uncle  Simeon  Crane,  who,  when  this 
colony  was  just  a  gittin'  settled,  was  a 
eating  his  supper  one  night  when  a 
grizzly  b'ar  walked  in  at  the  open  door. 
Simeon  was  feared  to  death  o'  b'ars, 
and  as  his  wife,  Betsey,  was  outdoors 
a-doin'  up  the  chores,  Simeon,  not 
havin'  nobody  to  pertect  him,  jist 
86 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

clum  up  the  ladder  into  the  loft  an, 
naterally  perferrin'  the  b'ar  shouldn't 
f oiler  drawd  up  the  ladder  ar'ter  him. 
Meanwhile  Betsey,  she  cum  in,  an'  a 
findin'  the  b'ar  eatin'  supper  she  an' 
him  had  it  hot  an'  merry.  Sometimes 
the  critter  was  down  an'  sometimes 
Betsey.  An'  Simeon  a-wishin'  to  be 
on  the  winnin'  side  ud  call  out  to  the 
one  on  top,  'Go  it,  Betsey,'  or,  'Go  it, 
b'ar,'  jest  as  the  case  might  be." 

Early  in  July,  1779,  Admiral  Sir 
George  Collier  and  General  Tryon,  with 
two  men-of-war,  forty-eight  tenders 
and  transports,  sailed  up  Long  Island 
Sound,  made  a  bid  for  the  alle 
giance  of  this  waiting  tory  element, 
and  Uriel  Coxe's  long  coveted  oppor 
tunity  to  hurl  "a  tremenjous  column  on 
the  enemy"  at  last  arrived. 

87 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

On  the  morning  of  the  sixth  of  July 
this  proclamation  was  found  nailed  up 
on  the  church-door: 

ADDRESS  TO  THE  INHABIT 
ANTS   OF    CONNECTICUT. 

The  ungenerous  and  wanton  insur 
rection  against  the  sovereignty  of  Great 
Britain  into  which  this  colony  has  been 
deluded  by  the  artifices  of  designing 
men  for  private  purposes,  might  well 
justify  in  you  every  fear  which  conscious 
guilt  could  form  respecting  the  inten 
tions  of  the  present  armament.  Your 
town,  your  property,  yourselves,  lie 
within  the  grasp  of  the  power  whose 
forbearance  you  have  ungenerously 
construed  into  fear,  but  whose  lenity 
has  persisted  in  its  mild  and  noble 
efforts,  even  though  branded  with  the 
most  unworthy  imputations. 
88 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

The  existence  of  a  single  habitation 
on  your  defenseless  coast  ought  to  be  a 
constant  reproof  to  your  ingratitude. 
Can  the  strength  of  your  whole  prov 
ince  cope  with  the  force  which  might 
at  any  time  be  poured  through  any  dis 
trict  of  your  country?  You  are  conscious 
that  it  cannot.  Why  then  persist  in  a 
ruinous  and  ill-judged  resistance?  You 
who  lie  so  much  in  our  power  afford  that 
most  striking  monument  of  our  mercy, 
and  ought  therefore  to  set  the  first  ex 
ample  of  returning  to  allegiance. 

Reflect  on  what  gratitude  requires  of 
you.  If  that  is  insufficient  to  move 
you,  attend  to  your  own  interest;  we 
offer  you  a  refuge  against  the  distress 
which,  you  universally  acknowledge, 
broods  with  increasing  and  intoler 
able  weight  on  your  country. 
89 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

We  do  now  declare  that  whosoever 
shall  be  found  and  remain  in  peace  at 
his  usual  place  of  residence,  shall  be 
shielded  from  any  insult  either  to  his 
person  or  property,  excepting  such  as 
bear  office,  either  civil  or  military,  under 
your  present  ursurped  government,  of 
whom  it  will  be  further  required  that 
they  shall  give  proofs  of  their  penitence 
and  voluntary  submission,  and  they 
shall  partake  of  the  like  immunity. 

Those  whose  folly  and  obstinacy  may 
slight  this  favorable  warning  must  take 
notice  that  they  are  not  to  expect  a  con 
tinuance  of  that  lenity  which  their 
insistency  would  now  render  blamable. 

Given  on  board  his  Majesty's   ship 
Camille,  on  the  Sound,  July  4,  1779. 
George  Collier, 
Wm.  Tryon. 

9° 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

While  this  proclamation  was  being 
discussed  by  all  the  townspeople  on 
the  village  green,  Morris  Marshall,  who 
had  set  forth  from  Saintford  at  dawn 
on  his  way  to  Hartford,  rode  back 
posthaste  bringing  the  news  of  what 
had  followed  the  entry  of  the  British 
fleet  into  New  Haven  harbor.  The  un 
fortunate  inhabitants  had  been  insulted, 
pillaged,  beaten,  tortured,  slaughtered. 
Shipping  at  the  wharves,  houses  and 
stores,  had  been  burned.  The  Rev.  Dr. 
Daggett,  ex-president  of  Yale  College, 
had  been  taken  prisoner,  wounded, 
beaten,  and  in  every  way  outraged. 

This  was  only  the  beginning  of  the 
enemy's  depredations,  for  it  was  their 
threat  that  every  village  along  the 
Sound  which  harbored  a  rebel  was  to 
be  destroyed. 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

The  news  of  the  indignities  offered 
to  Dr.  Daggett,  who  was  a  kinsman  of 
Cicely's  mother,  roused  Mr.  Fairing- 
ton's  indignation.  He  had  not  left  his 
house  for  more  than  two  years,  but  now, 
leaning  on  Morris  Marshall's  arm,  he 
sallied  out  and  addressed  the  group 
gathered  before  the  church-door. 

"Men,"  he  said,  raising  his  trembling 
right  arm,  "we  must  protect  our 
homes  against — the  enemy. ' ' 

Only  Morris  Marshall  knew  by  what 
effort  the  squire  pronounced  those 
bitter  words,  "the  enemy." 

"The  enemy  may  arrive  off  our  shore 
this  very  day, ' '  he  went  on.  ' '  Some  of  us 
have  wives,  some  of  us  have  daughters. " 

' '  Squire  Farrington, ' '  said  Uriel  Coxe, 
"we  will  all  lay  down  our  lives  to 
our  country. " 

92 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

Mr.  Farrington  bared  his  head  and 
looked  up. 

"We  will  all  lay  down  our  lives  to 
save  our  country,"  he  said. 

He  had  chosen  his  side  at  last.  He 
was  thrilling  with  the  insult  of  the  proc 
lamation  which  summoned  him  back 
to  the  allegiance  he  would  have  been 
glad  always  to  hold  sacred,  which  com 
manded  him  to  reflect  upon  what  grati 
tude  required  at  the  very  moment  that 
hired  mercenaries  were  let  loose  to 
burn,  pillage  and  torture. 

A  committee  of  safety,  with  Morris 
Marshall  at  its  head,  was  organized  at 
once.  Every  woman  in  Saintford  was 
advised  to  pack  up  her  valuables  and 
to  be  ready,  at  a  moment's  warning,  to 
flee  toward  Danbury.  A  reconnoissance 
was  made  on  the  Milford  shore.  No 

93 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

sail  was  in  sight.  It  was  probable  that 
the  fleet  would  move  down  the  Sound 
toward  sunset,  and  the  following  plan 
of  operation  was  decided  on :  Late  in 
the  afternoon  Uriel  Coxe  and  his  com 
pany  of  Home  Guards  were  to  repair  to 
the  Point  to  watch  for  the  enemy,  and 
at  the  first  sign  of  his  approach  to  light 
a  bonfire  which  should  give  the  signal. 
The  news  would  be  carried  to  the 
village  by  two  men  in  a  row-boat,  lying 
concealed  among  the  sedges  of  Nicholas 
Knell's  island.  Meanwhile  Captain 
Coxe's  men  were  to  harass,  hinder  and 
delay  the  landing  of  the  British  as 
long  as  it  was  possible. 

It  was  nearing  six  o'clock  that  after 
noon  when  the  Home  Guard  set  out  on 
their  three-mile  march,  with  an  ox 
cart  loaded  with  provisions.  Probably 

94 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

in  no  campaign  of  the  Revolution  was 
the  commissariat  so  well  provided. 

"The  wimmin-kind,  God  bless  'em, 
know  that  we're  a-sacrificing  our  lives 
to  defend  'em,"  said  Uriel,  accepting 
the  substantial  tribute. 

By  seven  o'clock  the  march  was 
ended.  The  oxen  had  been  turned 
loose  to  find  pasture.  The  materials 
for  the  bonfire  had  been  gathered. 
The  sixteen  men  had  chosen  the  place 
for  their  bivouac  and  all  was  ready. 
The  blue  Sound,  gently  heaving, 
stretched  out  on  either  hand  into  far 
away  reaches  of  pearly  haze.  Eighteen 
miles  across  the  watery  expanse  the 
shores  of  Long  Island,  blue  with  dis 
tance,  showed  their  faint  silhouette. 
Except  that  every  man  was  armed  with 
sw^rd  or  musket,  some  with  both 

95 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

weapons,  it  might  have  seemed  as  if 
everything  beneath  the  over-arching 
dome  of  heaven  was  at  peace.  The 
gentle  lapping  of  the  waves,  the  whis 
per  of  the  breeze  through  the  tall 
sedges  and  mulleins,  all  sang  together, 
making  a  pleasant  lullaby. 

The  men  sat  for  almost  twenty 
minutes  waiting  for  the  enemy,  but 
the  enemy  did  not  appear. 

"No  man  can  fight  on  an  empty 
stomick,"  said  Uriel  Coxe.  "We  had 
better  eat  a  good,  substantial  meal. ' ' 

So  in  default  of  the  enemy,  the  six 
teen  men  fell  upon  the  ham  and  tongue 
and  pies.  Not  that  they  had  left  home 
fasting,  far  from  it,  but  it  seemed  a 
prudent  course  to  fortify  themselves. 

The  sun  had  set  by  the  time  the  meal 
was  finished.  Lightning  began  to  play 
96 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

on  a  bank  of  clouds  in  the  west.  The 
tide  was  coming  in  and  the  waves  mur 
mured  more  and  more  complainingly. 
Night  advanced  apace.  Speculation 
regarding  the  expected  event  began  to 
creep  into  their  conversation. 

"They  can't  get  into  the  harbor 
without  a  pilot  even  at  high  water," 
said  Nathaniel  Peabody,  in  his  shrill, 
piping  voice.  "It  won't  be  high  water 
till  past  one  o'clock.  My  idee  is  they 
will  anchor  half  a  mile  out  an'  send  the 
men  ashore  in  boats  not  far  away  from 
this  place  where  we  are  now." 

The  suggestion  was  unpleasant,  still 
it  had  to  be  met.  Each  man  was  eager 
for  the  important  post  of  bonfire -lighter. 
The  others  could  draw  up  into  a  hollow 
square,  wait  for  the  enemy  until  they 
saw  the  whites  of  their  eyes  and  then 

97 
7 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

bore  it  into  them ;  or  they  could  post 
themselves  in  the  most  convenient  posi 
tion  and  with  skilful  shots  pick  off  the 
men  one  by  one  as  they  tried  to  land. 
Another  suggestion  was  to  scuttle  the 
boats  by  firing  under  the  water-line. 
Uriel  Coxe  thought  the  best  way  might 
be  for  the  whole  company  to  wade  out 
on  the  shelving  sands,  meet  the  boats, 
upset  them  and  drown  the  enemy  in 
the  surf. 

There  could  be  no  doubt  about  this 
being  magnificent,  but  was  it  war? 

"No  shilly-shallying  for  me,"  de 
clared  Uriel.  "I  don't  want  too  many 
tactics.  My  way  is  to  go  straight  to 
the  p' int." 

The  night  thickened.  The  bank  of 
cloud  in  the  west  was  rising.  The 
lightnings  played  over  it  unceasingly. 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

"I'll  warrant,"  suggested  Nathan 
Brown  with  a  sort  of  tremor  in  his 
voice,  "the  wimmin-kind  at  home  is 
a-quakin'  an'  a-tremblin'." 

"Well  they  may  quake,"  said  Na 
thaniel  Peabody,  who  had  barely 
escaped  with  his  life  from  New  Haven 
the  day  before.  He  went  on,  his  voice 
growing  shriller  and  more  shrill,  to 
describe  what  he  had  seen.  One  tipsy 
Hessian  had  eight  watches  and  the 
sleeve  of  his  coat  full  of  women's 
trinkets.  Then,  too,  the  insults  and 
affronts  put  upon  respectable  citizens. 

"They  called  Doctor  Daggett  ad — d 
old  rebel,"  he  asseverated. 

"I'll  show  'em  if  they  put  in  here 
how  a  d — d  old  rebel  can  beat  a  d — d 
old  British  soldier,"  observed  Uriel. 

"S'pose,"    suggested   Nathaniel,   "a 

99 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

company  of  them  men  was  to  start  up 
this  minnit  out  of  the  tall  grass,  an' 
tell  us  to  show  'em  the  way  to  Saint- 
ford  village,  a-pokin'  their  bay 'nits  into 
our  hind-quarters  an'  a-telling  us  to 
git  on?" 

"Two  can  play  at  that  game,"  said 
Uriel. 

"Ef  they  wouldn't  spare  Doctor  Dag- 
gett  o'  Yale  College  what  ud  they  do 
for  plain,  'umble  men  like  us?  I  tell 
ye,  he  begged  for  his  life. ' ' 

"Not  I." 

Nathaniel  proceeded  to  describe 
Doctor  Daggett's  wounds — four  deep 
bayonet  gashes  on  his  skull,  three 
pricks  of  the  bayonets  between  his  ribs ; 
then  such  a  belaboring  of  his  whole 
body  with  the  barrels  of  the  men's 
muskets  that  he  fainted  dead  away. 

100 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

"Ef  I'd  'a'  bin  Doctor  Daggett,"  said 
Uriel,  "I'd  jest  'a'  snatched  a  muskit 
ont'n  the  nearest  man's  hands,  an' 
knocked  him  down,  an'  while  I  trampled 
the  life  out'n  him,  I'd  jest  'a'  struck 
out  an'  destroyed  every  ruffian  within 
reach. " 

"What  was  that  sound?"  somebody 
whispered. 

Distant  thunders  had  begun  to  mut 
ter.  Strange  noises  came  out  of  the 
sea,  and  what  was  that  flash  across  the 
face  of  the  waters? 

"It  wasn't  lightning." 

"Looked  to  me  like  the  glim  of  a 
lantern.  Jest  seems  to  me  I  seed  the 
hull  of  a  ship.  Now,  what's  that  if  it 
ain't  the  sound  o'  muffled  oars?" 

At  the  same  moment,  however,  their 
apprehensions  were  quieted,  for  an 
101 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

illuminating  flash  of  lightning  made 
everything  before  them  as  clear  as 
noonday.  There  was  no  man-of-war, 
no  boat,  nothing  but  a  black  waste 
of  moving  waters. 

But  that  sudden  clutch  of  dread  had 
laid  hold  of  every  man  and  was  not 
easily  shaken  off.  They  took  a  snack 
of  bread  and  cheese  and  a  draught  of 
home-made  beer  just  to  pass  the  time. 

Alas,  the  snack  instead  of  infusing 
spirit  robbed  them  of  it.  They  grew 
sleepy.  The  idea  of  the  British  inva 
sion  grew  far  off,  misty,  improbable. 

Even  the  wicked  had  sometimes  to 
cease  from  troubling  and  be  at  rest. 

Uriel  Coxe's  patriotism  was  all  that 

was  left.     The  others'  had  all   oozed 

out.     As  he  patrolled  the  beach  he  felt 

the    natural    contempt     anyone    wide 

102 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

awake  experiences  for  his  fellow-mor 
tals  nodding  off  and  snoring.  The 
storm  had  gone  round  to  the  south. 
The  late  moon  would  rise  toward 
dawn;  already  there  was  a  whitening 
of  the  northeast.  The  lonely  watcher 
wished  it  would  grow  lighter  still; 
light  enough  to  clear  up  huge,  shape 
less  shadows  which  seemed  to  be  flitting 
to  and  fro  over  the  waters  in  aimless 
circles.  Strange,  luminous  eyes  glared 
delusively  out  of  these  shapes.  Uriel 
caught  himself  cowering  behind  a  sand 
dune  to  hide  away  from  these  phan 
toms  born  of  fog  and  mist.  Every 
thing  seemed  to  grow  uncanny.  There 
were  eerie  noises  like  the  rustling  of 
garments.  Not  only  did  the  coarse 
herbage  give  out  vibrations  in  the  wind, 
but  something  moved — yes,  there  were 
103 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

live  creatures  scuttling  through  it! 
What  was  it  ran  across  his  foot?  He 
struck  at  it  with  his  weapon.  No  mat 
ter,  the  moon  would  soon  be  up,  and  it 
would  herald  the  dawn. 

Uriel  sat  down  on  a  sand  hummock ; 
leaning  forward  with  his  hands  clasping 
his  musket,  he  nodded,  then  dozed. 

He  woke  with  a  powerful  start.  Was 
that  an  enemy's  bayonet  that  had 
pricked  him?  He  turned  shivering. 

The  moon  was  up.  He  could  see  by 
its  faint  light  a  row  of  tall,  straight, 
pointed  weapons — yes,  a  whole  row  of 
bayonets  threatened  him. 

A  blood-curdling  yell  aroused  the 
sleepers. 

"Scatter,  men,  scatter!"  shouted 
Uriel.  "We're  right  amongst  the 
thickest  of  'em." 

104 


IV 

NOT  long  after  sunrise  that  day 
Morris  Marshall,  after  watch 
ing  all  night,  brought  word  to  Saint- 
ford  women  that  they  might  light  their 
kitchen  fires  and  prepare  breakfast  in 
peace.  The  enemy's  fleet  had  weighed 
anchor  before  dawn,  left  New  Haven 
behind  and,  disregarding  Saintford, 
were  to  strike  their  next  blow  farther 
along  the  coast.  The  Home  Guard  had 
"scattered"  so  successfully  that  some 
of  them,  being  lost  in  the  woods,  did 
not  turn  up  for  a  day  or  two.  What 
had  startled  the  gallant  Uriel  had 
been  three  mullein  stalks  waving 

I05 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

toward  him  in  the  rising  wind  of 
dawn. 

Meanwhile  Sidney  Marrable  had  heard 
of  the  plundering  and  burning  of  New 
Haven  and  had  asked  his  chief  of  staff 
for  a  two  days'  furlough.  When  he 
was  referred  to  General  Washington, 
his  excellency  said  he  could  ill  spare 
anyone  just  at  the  time. 

"But  Saintford,  my  home,  is  just  in 
the  path  of  the  British,"  pleaded 
Sidney. 

"Are  you  married?" 

"No,  your  excellency." 

"You  have  a  mother,  perhaps?" 

"Yes,  your  excellency." 

"A  sister?" 

"No,  your  excellency — but — " 

"We  are  hoping  to  strike  a  blow 
presently  to  our  own  advantage  and  the 
106 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

enemy's  perplexity,"  said  the  general. 
"The  lion  going  up  and  down  Connec 
ticut  seeking  whom  he  may  devour  is  to 
have  a  pinch  of  the  tail.  But  I  shall 
need  officers  with  all  their  wits  about 
them.  I  can  see  that  yours  are  wander 
ing.  Accordingly,  go  find  them  and 
bring  them  back  with  all  possible  dis 
patch.  ' ' 

Sidney  had  no  wish  to  loiter.  He 
was  devoured  by  anxiety.  He  set  off 
at  once  and  on  his  way  heard  more  than 
once  the  direful  news  that  the  enemy 
had  landed  at  Saintford  Point  Every 
where  he  came  upon  men  arming,  for 
the  militia  was  rising  to  go  to  the  de 
fense  of  the  villages  along  the  rivers, 
inlets  and  beaches.  Sidney  finally 
reached  his  mother's  house  just  before 
midnight.  Mrs.  Marrable  and  Ruth 
107 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

were  soon  roused  and  could  easily  reas 
sure  him  as  to  their  own  safety  and 
the  safety  of  all  Saintford.  He  ate, 
drank,  went  to  bed  and  tossed  till  dawn, 
sleeping  only  to  have  a  nightmare  of 
arriving  too  late  to  receive  his  general's 
commands.  The  moment  the  rose  and 
gold  of  the  east  showed  that  day  was 
near  he  sprang  up.  He  had  told  his 
mother  that  he  would  be  gone  before 
she  and  Ruth  were  awake.  In  fact  as 
far  as  Ruth  was  concerned  he  wished 
he  had  not  come.  The  girl's  eyes,  her 
smiles,  her  blushes  had  been  so  self- 
conscious,  so  triumphant  that  her  very 
effort  to  hide  her  elation  and  control  it 
showed  that  it  had  its  root  in  her  be 
lief  that  the  young  officer  had  made 
this  extraordinary  journey  simply  to 
assure  himself  that  she  was  safe  and 
108 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

unharmed.  The  chief  of  his  concern 
was  for  somebody  so  different  even 
from  his  mother  that  Sidney  had  chafed 
under  the  smiles  and  glances  of  the 
two. 

It  helped  him  to  be  out  of  doors  in 
the  fresh,  cool  wind  of  dawn.  The 
great  thing  was  to  be  doing  something, 
putting  deed  to  thought.  What  he  was 
determined  to  effect  was  a  sight  of 
and  speech  with  Cicely.  He  had  not 
seen  her  all  these  three  years.  He 
stole  through  the  wet  grass,  crossed  the 
garden  and  ran  down  the  trellis-walk. 
The  feeling  that  he  was  so  near  her 
made  his  blood  leap  in  his  veins.  He 
had  scarcely  spent  a  thought  upon  how 
they  were  to  meet.  To  stand  under 
her  window  and  look  up  and  let  his 
fancy  run  riot  at  the  image  of  the  girl 
109 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

lying  on  the  pillow  to  which  he  had 
pressed  his  lips  on  that  far-away  July 
night,  her  bright  brown  hair  lying 
tossed  about  in  sweet  disorder,  for  one 
long  minute,  seemed  enough.  She 
loved  him.  The  sense  of  possession 
passed  through  him  like  an  electric 
thrill.  Then  the  call  of  birds  roused 
him.  It  was  day.  Impatience  began 
to  stir  in  him.  He  flung  up  a  pebble, 
then  another,  and  called,  "Cicely,"  half 
under  his  breath. 

There  was  no  answer.  It  was  grow 
ing  lighter.  One  moment  more  of 
waiting,  then  he  climbed  up  the  trellis 
and,  reaching  across  the  space  with  his 
riding  whip,  tapped  softly  on  the 
window  ledge. 

The   curtains,    which    were    waving 
gently  to  and  fro,  were  pushed  aside. 
no 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

A  man's  figure  appeared.  It  was  Mor 
ris  Marshall. 

"Lieutenant  Marrable!"  he  ex 
claimed,  all  the  blood  rushing  to  his 
face.  "What  are  you  doing  here?" 

"Come  out,  sir,"  said  Sidney,  "and  I 
will  explain." 

Five  minutes  later  the  two  men  were 
face  to  face  on  the  grape-walk. 

"I  wanted  a  moment's  speech  with 
Miss  Farrington, "  Sidney  said,  with 
his  indomitable,  youthful  air.  "I 
have  ridden  more  than  fifty  miles  to 
assure  myself  that  all  is  well  with 
her." 

In  spite  of  his  jealousy,  in  spite  of 
his  half  hatred  of  the  slim,  straight, 
well-knit  young  fellow,  Marshall's 
better  nature  was  touched  by  the 
signals  the  handsome  face  hung 
in 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

out,  and  the  note  of  feeling  in  his 
voice. 

"My  Cousin  Cicely  is  well,"  he  re 
turned.  "She  is  nursing  her  father, 
who  has  been  made  ill  by  the  bad  news 
of  late,  and  she  is  sleeping  in  the  room 
next  his,  on  the  other  side  of  the 
house. " 

"She  is  well,  you  say?" 

"Perfectly  well." 

Sidney  put  his  hand  on  Marshall's 
shoulder.  His  face  worked.  His 
breast  heaved. 

"Will  you  tell  her,"  he  gasped  out, 
"that  the  moment  I  heard  there  might 
be  danger  I  could  not  stay  away?  I 
must  have  news  of  her.  The  thought 
of  the  enemy  in  this  harbor — 

"Is  no  relief  coming  to  Connecticut?" 
demanded  Marshall." 

113 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

"Something  is  hatching,"  replied 
Sidney.  "If  I  guessed  what  it  was,  it 
would  be  better  for  me  not  to  say.  I 
am  riding  back  faster  than  I  came. 
You  will  tell  her  I  was  here?" 

Marshall  nodded  and  walked  on  with 
Sidney,  telling  him  of  Uriel  Coxe's  gal 
lant  campaign.  When  they  came  to  the 
place  where  Sidney's  horse  was  waiting, 
saddled  and  bridled,  Marshall  asked  if 
this  worn-out  nag  could  be  expected  to 
last  through  the  long  ride. 

"You  are  lucky,"  he  observed  when 
Sidney  told  him  his  own  horse  had 
been  resting  at  Ridgfield  since  yester 
day.  "Good  animals  are  getting 
scarcer  and  scarcer.  Arnold  was  tell 
ing  me  lately  that  he  had  been  sending 
south  for  horses,  but  had  made  out 
poorly.  The  British  seize  and  run  off 

"3 
8 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

every  beast  they  can  lay  hands  upon. 
'No  horses  anywhere,'  says  Arnold. 
'No  horses  in  New  York,  no  horses  in 
Pennsylvania.  In  Delaware  and  Mary 
land  they  are  using"  mules  and  oxen 
altogether,  and  as  for  Congress,  it  is 
run  entirely  by  donkeys.'  " 

Sidney,  applying  spur  to  horse, 
laughed  as  he  shouted  out,  "I  will  tell 
his  excellency,  I  will  tell  his  excel 
lency."  He  rode  back  with  a  light 
heart.  Even  if  he  had  not  seen  Cicely 
he  had  been  near  her.  Marshall  would 
tell  her  how  he  had  stood  beneath  her 
window  and  she  would  guess  some 
thing  of  the  love  and  longing  which 
had  filled  his  heart  as  he  looked  up.  It 
had  given  him  a  quiet,  shriven  feeling 
as  of  having  been  upon  his  knees  in 
prayer. 

114 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

He  reached  headquarters  two  hours 
past  noon,  and  Marshall  followed 
two  days  later,  bringing  the  news  of 
the  destruction  that  had  fallen  upon 
Fairfield  and  Norwalk.  The  moment 
was  so  serious,  so  bristling  with  de 
mands  that  Sidney  found  time  for  but 
one  question,  and  was  contented  with 
Marshall's  curt  response. 

"My  Cousin  Cicely  is  well.  Mr. 
Farrington's  disorder  was  mending 
when  I  came  away." 

Sidney  had  not  counted  on  a  mes 
sage.  He  was  flinging  himself  heart 
and  soul  into  the  preparations  for  the 
attack  on  Stony  Point.  This  expedi 
tion  was  to  be  Washington's  thundering 
counterstroke ;  the  pinch  of  the  tail 
which  was  to  bring  the  lion  back  from 
the  Connecticut  coast  roaring  for  his 

"5 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

more  legitimate  prey.  Anthony  Wayne, 
of  whom  it  was  said  that  where  he  was 
there  was  always  fighting,  was  to  con 
duct  the  storming-party,  and  Sidney 
Marrable  was  one  of  his  picked  men. 

"What  kind  of  a  post  do  you  like?" 
inquired  the  commander. 

"Sir,"  said  Sidney,  "I  like  a  post  of 
danger." 

He  was  likely  to  be  taken  at  his  word 
and  have  his  wishes  met,  so  Morris 
Marshall,  who  happened  to  overhear 
this  colloquy,  observed  to  himself 
shrewdly.  The  attack  bristled  with 
difficulties,  some  of  which  were  likely 
enough  to  be  deadly.  Sidney  had 
twice  made  a  reconnoissance,  and  knew 
every  furlong  of  the  way  before  the 
detachment  of  Light  Infantry  set  out 
from  Sandy  Beach  at  noon  on  July  i5th. 
116 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

The  success  of  the  expedition  de 
pended  on  its  being  a  surprise.  Not  a 
musket  was  loaded  lest  some  unwary 
shot  should  betray  the  secret  of  the 
march. 

"Not  a  dog  must  be  left  to  bark — not 
a  cat  to  mew,"  said  the  commander.  It 
was  an  advance  like  that  of  Indian 
warriors,  in  single  file;  what  roads  ex 
isted  on  that  side  of  the  Hudson  were 
incredibly  bad,  but  generally  there 
were  none,  and  the  path  lay  up  steep 
ascents  over  rough  passes,  down  nar 
row  defiles  and  through  precipitous 
ravines.  Sidney  Marrable,  who  had 
already  tested  and  prepared  for  each 
difficulty  of  the  route,  helped  to  put  life 
and  soul  into  the  tedious  march ;  he  fell 
into  the  step  of  the  surly  men  and  in 
spired  them  with  hope  and  good -humor; 
117 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

he  helped  one  through  arduous  places, 
lightened  the  baggage  of  another; 
was  ready  with  canteen  and  ration. 

"The  most  promising  youngster," 
said  Wayne  to  Morris  Marshall,  who 
had  come  up  with  General  Muhlenberg's 
column  to  support  the  rear  of  the  at 
tacking  party  if  needed,  and  who 
crossed  the  bay  in  a  skiff  at  sunset  to 
bring  a  bag  of  dispatches  from  head 
quarters.  "He  will  get  promotion." 

It  seemed  to  Marshall  that  every 
sting,  every  mortification  of  his  life 
was  called  Sidney  Marrable.  At  this 
moment,  besides  hearing  the  young 
fellow's  praises,  he  was  obliged  to 
suffer  from  the  knowledge  that  his  bag 
of  dispatches  had  contained  a  letter 
for  Sidney  from  Cicely  Farrington. 
Marshall  stood  eying  it  in  the  general's 
116 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

hands  as  a  cat  a  mouse ;  he  would  have 
pounced  on  it  and  ground  it  to  atoms 
had  there  been  a  chance.  Had  he  sus 
pected  it  was  in  his  keeping  he  would 
have  sunk  the  whole  bag  of  dispatches 
at  the  bottom  of  the  river  before  he 
delivered  it. 

"Better  not  let  him  waste  time  and 
strength  reading  letters, "  he  said  con 
temptuously,  pointing  to  the  sealed 
missive. 

"I'll  wager  something  it's  a  love- 
letter,'  '  said  the  general.  "It  will  put 
fresh  fight  into  the  fellow  to  have  it 
under  his  jacket  over  his  heart." 

As  Marshall  saw  the  light  on  Sidney's 
face  as  he  came  up  to  receive  his  letter, 
the  contraction  of  his  eyes  and  lips 
grew  dangerous.  He  stood  and  waited 
to  see  how  and  when  he  would  read  it. 
119 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

This  rendezvous  was  on  the  place  of 
a  man  named  Springsteel,  a  mile  and  a 
half  below  the  fort.  As  the  men  after 
their  scattered,  irregular  scramble  over 
the  broken  way  came  up,  they  were 
given  their  rations,  then  formed  into 
columns  ready  for  the  attack.  Sidney 
was  to  lead  the  van  on  the  right,  with 
twenty  picked  men ;  to  prepare  the  way 
for  the  advance  under  Lieutenant- 
Colonel  Fleury. 

Sidney  looked  up  at  the  sky.  The 
dark  would  come  with  a  stride 
presently.  He  must  read  the  letter. 
He  had  made  an  arrangement  with  a 
negro  in  this  neighborhood  by  the  name 
of  Pompey,  and  now,  under  the  pre 
text  of  going  to  meet  the  man,  walked 
to  a  little  distance,  hid  himself  from 
view  behind  a  great  bowlder,  and  sit- 
120 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

ting  down  used  the  last  precious 
moments  of  delay  in  perusing  the 
epistle  which  Cicely  had  written  on  the 
very  day  he  had  spent  in  riding  toward 
Saintford  to  assure  himself  of  her 
safety.  It  ran  thus : 

1 '  Good  and  true  friend : 

"111  news  travels  so  fast  you  may 
already  have  heard  of  our  trouble  and 
perplexity  at  the  British  invasion  of  our 
peaceful  coast.  For  a  whole  day  we 
were  quaking  at  the  thought  that  we 
were  ourselves  to  know  all  the  horrid 
chances  of  war.  By  my  father's  com 
mand  I  packed  all  our  plate,  the  jewels 
that  belonged  to  my  mother  and  other 
valuables.  For  those  few  blind, 
frightened  hours  of  yesterday  we  ran 
hither  and  thither  like  dumb  sheep 

121 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

feeling  their  danger.  To-day  we  hear 
from  my  Cousin  Marshall  that  the 
enemy  has  sailed  past  us,  our  harbor, 
perhaps,  not  being  deep  enough  for 
their  ships.  For  whatever  cause,  thank 
God!  My  father  is  ill  to-day  from  the 
excitement  and  want  of  rest.  I  am 
writing  this  within  sound  of  his  voice. 
But,  dear  friend,  I  am  so  light  of  heart. 
Although  separated  from  my  friend,  I 
feel  near  my  friend.  For  what  separa 
tion  of  distance  in  miles  could  be  equal 
to  the  separation  made  by  my  father's 
hopes  being  for  the  cause  which  is 
against  yours?  With  his  feelings  all 
embittered  toward  everything  Ameri 
can,  how  could  I  even  let  my  fancy 
dwell  on  any  future  in  which  my  own 
happiness  had  a  part?  My  dearest 
friend,  I  have  not  let  myself  be 

122 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

daunted.  I  have  gone  on  as  calmly  as 
if  I  was  assured,  as  cheerfully  as  if  I 
was  brave,  as  patiently  as  if  I  saw 
before  me  a  bright  future  instead  of 
one  solitary  and  loveless.  But  now, 
dear  playmate,  I  have  plucked  the  very 
flower  of  hope  out  of  this  time  of 
danger.  When  my  father,  instead  of 
saying,  'These  rebels,'  spoke  of  'Our 
cause  against  the  enemy — '  But  he 
calls. 

"I  hear  that  dispatches  are  to  be  sent 
at  noon.  I  must  close  this.  I  wish  for 
one  hour  I  could  be  this  senseless  page 
— that  I  could  be  near  you — feel  the 
touch  of  your  hand!  Ought  I  to  say 
this?  It  is  long  since  we  met.  Men 
have  been  known  to  change.  If  you 
have  wavered —  But  even  if  you  were 
to  forget,  it  would  be  sweeter  to  re- 
123 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

member  you,  unfaithful  though  you 
were,  than  to  have  the  rest  of  the 
world  true  to  me. 

"From  her  who  has  always  a  prayer  in 
her  heart  for  her  true  warrior. " 

For  a  few  minutes  in  the  thrill  of  it, 
the  joy  of  it,  Sidney  forgot  where  he  was. 
His  face  was  glowing,  his  heart  was 
beating  violently;  his  hands  trembled  as 
he  pressed  his  lips  over  and  over  again  to 
the  letter,  feeling  that  Cicely  had  touched 
it.  All  at  once  recollection  smote  him. 
He  loved  his  life  so  well  at  that  instant  he 
was  almost  a  coward.  He  might  be  killed 
to-night.  On  the  edge  as  he  was  of  the 
sombre,  echoless  gulf  which  had  swal 
lowed  up  many  as  young  and  hopeful 
as  himself,  Sidney  grew  thoughtful. 
He  folded  the  letter  carefully  in  its 
original  folds.  Suddenly  having  a 
124 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

vision  of  himself  lying  helpless  to  be 
stripped  by  marauders,  he  thought 
with  horror  that  some  desecrating 
hand,  some  profane  eye  might  alight 
on  this  precious  page  out  of  the  girl's 
pure  heart.  He  looked  about  him. 
With  Sidney  prompt  deed  always  fol 
lowed  thought. 

"If  I  put  the  letter  under  this  bowl 
der,"  he  said  to  himself,  "I  can  re 
claim  it — if  I  survive  the  battle.  If 
not,  in  nature's  own  good  time,  it  will 
molder  into  dust. ' ' 

He  kissed  the  letter  once  more,  then 
thrust  it  far  under  the  bowlder  into  a 
crevice  of  the  rock  beneath.  Just  then 
he  heard  the  melancholy  note  of  the 
whip-poor-will.  It  was  Pompey's 
signal.  Sidney  answered. 

Pompey  had  come  from  the  fort, 
12 1 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

where  he  had  been  selling  straw 
berries  to  the  officers.  He  had  prom 
ised  Sidney  to  guide  the  storming- 
party  across  the  morass  and  up  the 
steep  and  rocky  paths,  and  he  was  as 
good  as  his  word.  The  history  of  that 
night  attack  has  been  told  over  and  over 
again.  Sidney  Marrable's  column  was 
to  move  on,  remove  the  abatis  and 
other  obstructions,  and  surprise  the 
fort. 

"Neither  the  deep  morass,"  said 
General  Wayne's  report,  "the  formida 
ble  and  double  rows  of  abatis,  nor  the 
strong  works  in  front  and  flank  could 
damp  the  ardor  of  the  troops,  who,  in 
the  face  of  a  most  incessant  and  tre 
mendous  fire  of  musketry,  and  from 
cannon  loaded  with  grape-shot,  forced 
their  way  at  the  point  of  the  bayonet 
126 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

through  every  obstacle,  both  columns 
meeting  in  the  centre  of  "the  enemy's 
works  at  the  same  instant. ' ' 

Sidney  was  shot  through  the  right 
shoulder  just  as  he  entered  the  fort — 
one  of  the  first.  It  was  a  dangerous 
but  not  a  mortal  wound.  Sidney  was 
to  live  long  and  prosper — to  see  his 
children's  children.  Nevertheless  des 
tiny  had  stepped  in  and  separated  him 
from  Cicely. 

Ten  minutes  after  Sidney  had  hidden 
the  last  love-letter  Cicely  Farrington 
was  ever  to  write,  Morris  Marshall, 
who  had  watched  him,  drew  it  forth 
from  the  crevice  in  the  rocks,  hesitated 
whether  or  not  to  destroy  it,  and  de 
cided  to  put  it  in  his  pocket. 

It  does  not  follow  that  a  man  is  in 
capable  of  remorse  because  he  acts  as 
127 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

if  he  had  no  scruples  of  heart  or  con 
science.  The  spring  of  Morris  Mar 
shall's  actions  lay  not  only  in  his  wish 
to  separate  Cicely  and  Sidney,  but  in 
his  hatred  and  envy  of  the  young  fel 
low's  lithe  figure,  his  every  move 
ment  swift  as  an  arrow.  Marshall 
waited,  hoping  to  hear  that  he  had 
fallen.  Impetuous  to  folly,  Sidney 
was  always  lucky.  He  was  promoted 
to  a  captaincy  for  that  night's  work, 
and  a  little  later  to  a  lieutenant- 
colonelcy. 

Morris  Marshall  contrived  that 
Cicely's  letter  should  fall  into  Ruth 
Gentry's  hands.  He  knew  that  Ruth 
could  fight  her  own  battles. 

Cicely  never  heard  of  Sidney's  ride 
to  Saintford  for  news  of  her.  What 
she  did  hear  from  gossiping  neighbors 
128 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

was  that  he  had  come  post-haste  to 
assure  himself  of  Ruth  Gentry's  safety, 
then  had  departed  within  the  hour. 
The  cold  feeling  about  Cicely's  heart 
had  not  loosened  its  clutch  when  tidings 
came  of  Sidney's  gallant  doings  at 
Stony  Point,  and  also  that  he  lay  dan 
gerously  wounded. 

Ruth  Gentry  came  to  see  her  one  day 
late  in  August  to  bring  word  that  Sid 
ney  was  better. 

"I  suppose  you  will  be  sending  him 
another  letter  now,"  the  girl  added, 
with  her  soft,  dimpling  smiles. 

"I  do  not  understand  you,"  said 
Cicely. 

"Did  you  write  this?"  Ruth  de 
manded  with  a  little  laugh  of  derision, 
holding  out  the  sheet  which  had 
already  gone  through  such  a  singular 

129 
9 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

history.  "I  couldn't  have  believed," 
she  went  on,  "that  mistress  Cicely 
Farrington  was  such  a  piece  of  flesh 
and  blood." 

Cicely  flashed  into  such  a  white  heat 
of  rage  that  Ruth  shrank,  cowered,  and 
when  she  saw  the  wronged  girl  ap 
proach  her,  she  flung  down  the  letter 
and  ran  out  of  the  house  as  if  she 
expected  to  be  pursued. 

A  moment  later,  when  Cicely  emerged 
from  her  sudden  flare  of  anger, 
she  was  alone  with  the  letter;  that 
dumb,  accusing  witness  against  Sidney ; 
the  sight  of  which  fetched  its  lash  again 
across  her  every  womanly  suscepti 
bility. 

Fate  was  cruel.  Letters  often  mis 
carried  in  those  times,  and  the  one 
full  of  passionate  feeling  which  Sidney 

130 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

wrote  while  his  hurt  was  mending 
never  reached  Cicely.  When,  after 
the  close  of  the  war,  Sidney  returned 
to  Saintford  Cicely  was  gone  with  her 
father  to  England  to  attend  James 
Farrington's  nuptials,  and  there  was 
gossip,  perhaps  Ruth  Gentry  knew 
whence  it  came,  that  Cicely  was  also 
to  make  a  good  marriage  there,  among 
their  titled  relations. 

Cicely  Farrington  never  married.  But 
when  she  came  back  to  Saintford  Sid 
ney  Marrable  was  the  husband  of  Ruth 
Gentry.  Morris  Marshall  could  thus 
be  patient,  feeling  certain  that  Cicely 
would  ultimately  become  his  wife. 
Each  year  brought  Marshall  fresh 
wealth  and  greater  honors  to  offer  her, 
but  Cicely  said,  calmly,  she  should 
never  marry.  She  kept  her  father's 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

house  in  the  old  way  until,  when  she 
was  thirty-one  years  old,  he  died. 
Then  James  brought  his  wife  and  child 
from  England.  As  the  new  mistress 
was  paramount,  Cicely  subsided  into 
the  place  of  dependent  sister  and  maiden 
aunt,  and  in  the  stately  old  colonial 
house  may  still  be  seen  the  em 
broidered  screens,  the  tapestries 
wrought  by  Cicely's  patient  hands  in 
the  silent  years  which  followed. 
Modern  whist  is  often  played  in  the 
drawing-room  on  a  wonderful  card-table 
that  she  embroidered,  with  all  the 
fifty-two  cards  laid  out  in  their  bravest 
semblance. 

Sidney  Marrable  had  a  place  under 
the  government,  and  rarely  came  to 
Saintford,  but  Cicely  used  to  see  Ruth 
and  her  and  Sidney's  children  in  the 

132 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

pew  at  church.  The  summer  Cicely 
was  thirty-six  she  was  sitting  one  day 
under  the  trees  on  the  lawn  at  work, 
when  all  at  once  she  perceived  Sidney 
coming  across  the  grass  toward  her. 
She  rose,  a  little  prim  and  formal,  and 
looked  at  him  with  a  white,  disturbed 
face.  He  was  a  fine,  stately  man  now. 
When  he  held  out  both  his  hands,  she 
did  not  venture  to  refuse  her  own  to 
his  clasp. 

"Cicely,"  he  began  without  any 
preamble,  "I  have  just  heard  from  my 
wife  a  strange  thing. ' ' 

She  only  looked  her  question.  He 
went  straight  to  the  point. 

"That  she  once  had  in  her  possession 
a  letter  of  yours  addressed  to  me — that 
she  made  you  very  angry  by  showing  it 
to  you." 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

"Let  it  pass — let  it  pass, "  said  Cicely, 
faintly.  "All  that  happened  years 
ago." 

Still  bewildered,  he  told  her  how  and 
why  he  had  hidden  that  letter  in  a 
ravine  a  mile  and  a  half  below  Stony 
Point;  how  even  while  suffering  from 
the  pain  and  fever  of  his  wound,  he 
had  had  himself  carried  to  the  place 
afterwards  and  had  found  it  gone. 

"What  happened  I  do  not  pretend  to 
say,"  Sidney  went  on  earnestly.  "I 
am  the  husband  of  another  woman, 
but  if  I  were  not  to  tell  you  that  I 
valued  that  letter,  that  I  value  any 
thing  of  yours,  Cicely,  more  than  I 
value  my  life,  I  should  be  helping 
on  the  accursed  treachery — accursed 
treachery,  I  say,  that  has  ruined  my 
life." 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

"Oh,  Sidney,  I  beseech  you — hush — 
hush!" 

"You  know  it  was  always  so.  You 
know  there  was  never  but  one  woman 
in  the  world  for  me." 

"I  cannot  hear  this — " 

"They  told  me  you  were  marrying  in 
England. " 

' '  I  never  had  any  thought  of  marry 
ing  in  England. ' ' 

"Then  I  was  the  more  deceived." 

For  one  long  moment  the  two  looked 
at  each  other.  Cicely  had  grown  faded 
and  older,  but  at  that  moment  all  the 
possible  beauty  of  her  youth  came  back 
to  her  face. 

He  was  to  remember  her  thus.  He 
said  no  more,  and  presently  went 
away. 

Cicely  was,  perhaps,  quieter  at  heart 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

after  this  explanation.  However,  the 
passionate  pain  of  those  long  years  had 
gone  deep.  She  was  not  well  all 
the  winter  that  followed,  but  she  busied 
herself  embroidering  a  little  robe — like 
a  christening  robe.  One  of  the  early 
days  of  March  happened  to  be  singu 
larly  warm  and  spring-like,  and  Cicely, 
although  frail  nowadays,  crept  forth 
and  with  a  parcel  wrapped  in  silver 
tissue  took  her  way  over  to  the  Marra- 
bles'.  Ruth  opened  the  door  for 
her. 

"Why,  it  is  Miss  Cicely  Farrington," 
she  exclaimed.  "  How  white  you  look ! 
Like  one  of  the  snowdrops  the  chil 
dren  brought  in." 

"I  am  not  well,"  said  Cicely,  "but  I 
felt  as  if  the  sun  and  air  might  do  me 
good.  Ruth,  I  have  brought  you  a 
136 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

little  present  for  the  child  you  are 
expecting." 

Ruth  crimsoned. 

"If  you  could  let  the  dear  little  crea 
ture  wear  it  at  the  christening,"  fal 
tered  Cicely.  "If  it  should  prove  to 
be  a  girl — if  you  could  let  her  bear  my 
name!" 

Ruth  took  the  little  robe  and  looked 
at  it.  It  was  a  marvel  of  delicate  needle 
work. 

It  was  used  six  weeks  later.  By  that 
time  Cicely  had  been  in  the  family 
vault  of  the  Farringtons  about  a 
month.  It  had  needed  but  a  breath  to 
end  her  life,  and  she  had  taken  cold 
that  treacherous  spring  day. 

The  child  that  wore  the  christening 
robe  was  a  boy.  Thus,  Cicely's  last 
wish,  like  many  another  that  had  lain 

137 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  LOVE-STORY 

near  her  heart,  never  came  to  pass. 
There  was  no  child  of  Sidney's  to  bear 
her  name. 


138 


The  High  Steeple  of 
St.  Chrysostom's 


139 


The  High  Steeple  of 
St.  Chrysostom's 


"T7ES,  an'  uncommon  pretty  young 
-*-       woman  she  ha' grown  too." 
"Not  old   enough  for  a  sweetheart 
yet?" 

"Old  eno'  an'  plenty.  Catch  sweet 
hearts  an'  birds  a-waitin'  for  cherries 
to  ripen  before  they  find  out  they're 
sweet!  Not  that  Annie  cares  for 
sweethearts,  though,  save  as  a  girl 
should!  I'  spite  of  her  dark,  wicked 

141 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM'S 

eyes,  an'  her  rare,  takin'  ways,  an'  her 
smile  here  an'  her  word  there,  no  doubt 
she  is  true  at  heart.  Then  she's  a 
proud  lass  an'  comes  from  a  proud 
stock;  an',  till  Master  Trent  came 
a-courtin',  Mistress  Snow  had  nothing 
but  frowns  for  any  o'  Annie's  lovers. 
Master  Trent's  bound  to  win  her,  they 
say. ' ' 

"Master  Trent?  Joshua  Trent,  o' 
Manor  Farm?" 

"None  else,  though  he  might  easy  ha' 
married  squire's  daughter  an'  set  up 
for  a  gentleman,  but  he  never  had  an 
eye  for  any  woman  alive  save  Annie. 
Mistress  Snow  ull  be  main  proud  to  see 
her  girl  at  Manor  Farm. ' ' 

The  two  men,  walking  together  along 
Teddington  highway,  parted  company 
here,  and  Will  Ware  took  the  lane  which 
142 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM  S 

led  past  the  shadows  of  the  great  oaks 
of  the  Chase  to  Farmer  Snow's.  Will 
had  not  been  in  Teddington  parish  for 
three  years,  but  he  had  forgotten  noth 
ing  about  his  early  sweetheart.  Annie 
had  been  but  sixteen  when  he  bade  her 
good-by  before  setting  out  on  his  long 
voyage,  yet  Will's  nimble  tongue  had 
already  found  many  a  chance  to  whisper 
words  into  her  ear  which  made  her  eyes 
droop  and  her  color  come,  and  they  had 
parted  with  a  farewell  kiss,  long 
remembered  by  him  with  a  wild  thrill 
of  passionate  hope.  Now,  thank  God! 
that  weary  interval  of  waiting  was  over ; 
he  was  at  home  again,  and,  forty- eight 
hours  after  setting  his  foot  in  the 
parish,  and  greeting  his  freshly  wid 
owed  mother,  he  was  on  his  way  to  see 
Annie  Snow. 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM'S 

He  was  still  quivering  with  a  curious 
pain  and  perplexity  over  the  news  he 
had  just  heard  of  a  possible  rival,  when 
he  came  in  sight  of  the  chimneys  of 
Chase  Farm,  and  the  very  look  of  them 
inspired  a  sort  of  comfort  which  gave 
him  a  hopeful  view  of  his  own  pros 
pects,  and  showed  his  and  Annie's 
future  in  a  satisfactory  light ;  and  here, 
just  beyond  the  turning,  were  Farmer 
Snow  and  his  wife,  driving  down  the 
lane  in  a  smart  new  gig. 

"Well,  now,"  said  Mistress  Snow, 
whose  cold  gray  eyes  saw  everything 
'twixt  sky  and  earth,  "if  there  isn't 
Will  Ware,  as  you  ha'  been  frettin'  to 
see!  Sit  down  an'  wait,  an'  what  you 
want '11  travel  toward  you  f aster 'n  you 
can  go  to  it. ' ' 

"Hilloa,  lad!"  cried  easy,  good- 
144 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM'S 

natured  Farmer  Snow,  whose  stalwart 
healthiness  was  a  sight  to  see  as  he  sat 
in  his  high  wagon,  clad  in  his  buff-and- 
blue  Sunday  suit,  his  heavy  chin  rest 
ing  on  his  neck-cloth;  "the  mistis  says, 
'There's  Will  Ware' — an'so  it  is,  an'  no 
mistake ! ' ' 

"Will  Ware,  an' no  mistake!"  cried 
the  young  fellow,  joyfully,  mounting 
the  step  of  the  gig  and  shaking  hands 
with  both  husband  and  wife,  and  even 
snatching  a  kiss  from  the  thin,  close 
lips  of  Mistress  Snow.  "You  have 
grown  younger  and  handsomer  than 
ever,"  he  added,  looking  into  her  face 
with  his  rollicking  air  and  laughing 
glance.  "'Tis  the  same  kiss  you  gave 
me  at  good-by,  you  know. ' ' 

"You've  lost  none  o'  your  boldness 
goin'  up  an'  down  the  world, ' '  the  mis- 

10  145 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM'S 

tress  retorted,  her  white  cheek  taking  a 
faint  color  under  the  salute.  "The 
master  here  thinks  I'm  old  enough  and 
plain  enough,  I'll  be  bound!" 

"I  married  the  handsomest  girl  in  all 
Teddington,  an'  I'll  not  confess  as  how 
I've  used  her  so  badly  that  she's  grown 
an  old  woman  at  forty,"  said  Farmer 
Snow,  with  one  of  his  deep  laughs. 
"So  you're  back  again,  Will,  an'  for 
good  this  time,  I  hear?  I  was  glad 
when  they  told  me  you  were  goin'  to 
give  up  sea  farin'  an'  stay  home  an' 
take  care  of  your  old  mother.  Ted 
dington  parish  lost  a  good  man  when 
your  father  died  last  winter,  but  he 
was  failin'  fast,  an'  you  can  fill  his 
place,  since  you've  come  back  to  take 
up  his  trade." 

"Yes,"  returned  Will,  with  a  sigh. 
146 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM'S 

"It  does  not  seem  the  right  thing,  does 
it,  to  leave  mother  alone,  an'  she  so  old, 
an'  I  the  only  child  left  in  her  old  age? 
I  can't  say  'tis  my  choosin',  for  I  love 
the  sea  best,  an'  I  was  doin'  well.  But 
I  believe  the  Lord's  hand  is  in  it  all,  for 
parson  says  so.  I  had  not  been  at  home 
an  hour  before  Master  Brown  came  in 
an'  told  me  he  had  a  good  openin*  for  a 
brisk  young  fellow  who  minded  no 
risks,  an'  would  not  shrink  from  danger. 
'He  needs  to  be  a  sort  o'  sailor,'  said  he, 
laughin'  as  'twere  a  joke;  then  went  on 
to  tell  that  Jem  Strong,  as  he  used 
to  depend  on  for  slatin'  high  roofs 
and  repairin'  weathercocks  an'  water 
spouts,  was  a-gettin'  too  worthless  to 
be  trusted.  For  a  man  can't  drink  his 
three  pints  every  night,  an'  double  the 
allowance  for  Sundays,  an'  have  his  eye 

147 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM'S 

sure  an'  his  arm  steady  in  the  morning. 
So  you  see,  Master  Snow,  Brown  thinks 
— as  I  know  a  good  deal  about  carpen- 
terin'  an'  the  like,  that  I  picked  up 
along  wi'  father,  as  a  youngster,  an'  am 
used  to  sailor's  work  from  bein'  a  sailor 
before  the  mast  for  eight  years — that 
the  place  might  suit  me  better  than  any 
other.  For  I'm  cool-headed  an'  steady, 
an'  no  doubt  I  do  understand  knottin' 
an'  splicin'  ropes  better  than  landsmen, 
an'  after  my  experience  in  all  sorts  o' 
weather,  'tisn't  likely  I'm  goin'  to  be 
scared  by  any  kind  o'  climbin',  when  I 
can  hold  on  by  my  eyelids.  Then, 
besides,  mother  feels  so  thankful  an' 
happy  to  think  o'  my  gettin'  steady 
work  in  Teddington!  There's  plenty 
o'  money  to  be  made  by  it — not  regular 
wages,  but  I  shall  be  paid  by  the  job, 
148 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM'S 

an'  liberally  too,  as  a  man  ought  to  be 
who  risks  his  life. " 

"Lucky  now  that  you  was  such  a 
handy  boy,  an'  larned  the  trade," 
observed  Farmer  Snow.  "An',  I  dare 
say,  you  had  a  chance  to  keep  your 
hand  in  at  sea?" 

"Indeed  I  did.  'T was  always  said  on 
board  the  Helena  that  I  had  a  better 
eye  an'  a  quicker  hand  than  the  ship- 
carpenter;  an'  the  captain,  he  told  me 
once  I  could  make  my  fortune  as  a 
rigger." 

"You'll  never  lose  a  chance  o' 
makin'  your  fortune  by  any  extra 
modesty,  Will  Ware,"  said  Mistress 
Snow,  tartly. 

The  young  man's  face  fell. 

"What  have  I  bragged  on?"  he  asked, 
looking  from  one  to  the  other  with  a 

149 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM'S 

troubled  glance.  "Next  to  my  poor  old 
mother,  I  seem  to  have  a  right  to 
expect  interest  an'  kindness  from  my 
old  friends." 

"Oh,  lad,  the  mistis  will  have  her 
joke,"  said  the  kind  farmer,  laughing, 
but  with  an  uncomfortable  air,  while 
his  wife's  grim  face  did  not  alter. 
"Were  you  bound  to  the  farm?  We 
can't  turn  back  to-day,  even  for  an  old 
friend  like  you,  Will. ' ' 

"Is  Annie  home?"  inquired  the  young 
fellow,  sheepishly,  the  blood  rushing  to 
his  face. 

"Annie  is  busy,"  said  Mistress  Snow, 
curtly.  "Come  again,  Will,  an'  we'll 
all  be  home  an'  welcome  you  gladly." 

Will  stepped  to  the  ground  and 
watched  the  pair  drive  off.  For  a  few 
moments  his  heart  was  heavy  as  lead. 

150 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM'S 

Were  they  changed,  or  had  his  own 
over-eager,  over-hungry  heart  demand 
ed  too  much?  Must  he  consider  his 
journey  at  an  end,  his  visit  postponed 
until  another  day,  with  the  house  in 
sight,  and  Annie  almost  within  sound  of 
his  voice?  Even  if  she  were  busy,  it 
was  not  likely  her  occupations  could  be 
arduous  on  this  Saturday  afternoon; 
and,  if  she  were  finishing  a  new  bonnet 
or  gown  for  the  Sunday,  might  he  not 
sit  by  her  side  and  tell  her  what  would 
be  most  becoming?  He  regained  his 
audacity,  and  instead  of  turning  back 
strode  jauntily  on.  The  great  farm 
yard  gate  was  wide  open,  and  he  entered 
and  stood  looking  about  him,  renewing 
with  delight  each  old  homely  impres 
sion,  and  feeling  as  if  he  recognized 
even  the  tiny  ducks  and  chicks,  like 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM'S 

balls  of  fluffy  down,  obediently  follow 
ing  their  mother's  sharp  cluck.  A 
monster  turkey-cock,  alone  in  his  glory, 
strutted  and  gobbled;  a  long  line  of 
ducks  solemnly  followed  their  leader 
from  the  pond ;  half  a  dozen  calves  in 
the  paddock  approached  the  bars  and 
sniffed  toward  him  hungrily ;  while  the 
great  mastiff  chained  to  his  kennel 
watched  the  intruder  with  a  cautious 
eye. 

"Giant,  is  that  you?"  said  Will;  and, 
with  a  joyful  bark,  the  dog  threw  him 
self  on  the  young  man,  licking  his  face 
and  whining.  It  seemed  to  Will  a  good 
sign  to  have  such  a  welcome  from  An 
nie's  own  dog,  and  he  went  forward  and 
knocked  at  the  open  door  of  the  great 
kitchen  of  Chase  Farm. 

Mistress  Snow  was  well  known  to  be 

152 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM'S 

the  best  housekeeper  in  both  Great  and 
Little  Teddington,  and  the  perfection  of 
polished  brightness,  and  the  repose  of 
a  full  week's  accomplished  work, 
reigned  in  her  kitchen  this  Saturday 
afternoon.  The  rows  of  pewter  dishes 
and  pans  shone  like  silver;  the  brasses 
were  brightened  into  mirrors,  which 
reflected  every  ray  of  color  and  light ; 
while  tables  and  chairs  showed  that  a 
stout  hand  had  rubbed  them  to  their 
cleanest  that  morning.  A  young  maid 
servant  sat  at  the  open  window,  sur 
reptitiously  putting  a  fresh  ribbon  in 
her  Sunday  bonnet  in  the  absence  of  her 
sharp-eyed  and  sharper-tongued  mis 
tress,  and  at  the  sound  of  the  knock 
came  running  to  the  door. 

"Is  Miss  Annie  Snow  at  home?"  Will 
inquired,  with  some  trepidation. 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM'S 

"She's  in  the  laundry-yard,  a-gath- 
erin'  the  damask-roses,  sir, "  answered 
the  little  maid,  looking  with  admiration 
at  the  sailor's  tall,  well-knit  figure, 
bronzed  face,  blue  eyes,  and  clustering 
brown  curls. 

Will  had  regathered  boldness  from  the 
unchanged  aspect  of  the  farmhouse, 
and,  telling  the  little  maid  that  he  would 
go  out  to  her  young  mistress,  strode 
across  the  black-oaken  floor  of  the 
kitchen,  and  went  through  the  scullery- 
door  to  the  garden ;  for  well  enough  he 
remembered  where  the  damask-roses 
grew.  It  was  a  pretty  spot ;  the  grass 
was  close-cut,  and  grew  soft  as  velvet ; 
on  one  side  a  hedge  of  privet  separated 
it  from  the  kitchen-garden,  where  all 
sorts  of  summer  vegetables  were  ripen 
ing  in  the  June  sunshine;  and  on  the 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM'S 

other  hand  the  long  dairy-house  in 
closed  it  from  the  farm-yard.  Then,  in 
front,  were  the  great  rose-trees,  which 
were  Mistress  Snow's  boast  and  pride, 
and  to-day  they  were  in  full  blow,  and 
made  a  superb  bank  of  color  with  their 
multitudinous  crimson,  pink  and  white 
petals  massed  against  the  vivid  green 
ery;  and  there — 

"Gathering  flowers,  herself  the  fairest" — 
stood  Annie  Snow,  with  her  apron  full 
of  damask-roses. 

Even  had  there  been  no  other  reason, 
Will  must  have  checked  himself  for  a 
moment's  gaze  at  this  pretty  sight.  A 
sheet  of  snowy  linen  lay  spread  over 
the  grass,  upon  which  was  piled  a  pyra 
mid  of  the  roses,  while  Annie  was  still 
occupied  in  pulling  more  from  the  half- 
stripped  bushes.  Will  had  remembered 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM'S 

the  young  girl's  beauty  with  a  weight 
upon  his  heart  and  tongue  for  many  a 
year;  but  she  had  grown  a  woman 
since  he  saw  her  last.  Her  hair  no 
longer  clustered  in  the  curly  crop  he 
remembered,  but  was  neatly  braided; 
yet  nothing  could  alter  the  delicate  little 
curls  and  rings  which  shaded  her  fore 
head  and  temples.  Her  eyes  were  as 
dark  as  her  hair,  or  seemed  so  from  the 
shade  of  the  thick,  black  lashes;  but 
one  could  hardly  tell  what  was  their 
color,  for  when  Annie  looked  she  held 
the  man  she  looked  at  under  the  spell 
of  her  gaze,  and  he  was  helpless,  and 
not  until  she  smiled  with  tender  curves 
of  the  beautiful  lips,  and  droll  little 
dimples,  did  her  victim  gather  heart. 
Just  at  this  moment  Will  could  not  tell 
whether  she  were  more  absorbed  in  gath- 
156 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM'S 

ering  roses  or  listening  to  a  dark,  stern- 
faced  man  who  stood  close  beside  her, 
whispering  occasionally  some  trifling 
word,  while  his  eyes  fastened,  as  if 
insatiable,  upon  the  young  girl's 
rounded,  babyish  curves  of  cheek  and 
throat.  Her  apron  was  full  of  the 
fragrant  petals,  and,  as  she  turned  to 
empty  them,  she  caught  a  glimpse  of 
Will  on  the  porch,  and  uttered  a  cry. 
He  strode  forward,  and,  between  her 
surprise  and  his  seizing  her  hands,  the 
apron  dropped  and  the  roses  fell  to  the 
ground. 

Annie  bent  her  head  with  a  devouring 
blush,  and  said,  faintly,  "I  dropped  the 
roses!"  and  they  both  went  down  upon 
their  knees,  and  began  picking  them  up. 
Will  had  found  one  chance  to  gaze  into 
the  depths  of  Annie's  eyes,  and  dis- 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM'S 

covered  there  a  fire  which  leaped  to 
meet  the  blaze  in  his  own.  But  nothing 
could  be  said  before  Joshua  Trent,  who 
stood  regarding  them  both  sullenly; 
and,  accordingly,  the  sailor,  scrambling 
to  his  feet,  turned  and  greeted  his 
rival. 

Master  Trent  wasted  no  graciousness 
upon  the  intruder,  but  Will  gave  small 
heed  to  his  lowering  glance  and  forbid 
ding  air,  and,  giving  him  not  another 
look  or  thought,  turned  back  to  Annie, 
whose  cheeks  had  gained  a  color  more 
delicious  than  the  hue  of  her  own 
roses. 

"You  were  gathering  these  for  the 
linen-closet  just  before  I  went  away, 
Annie, ' '  he  said,  softly.  She  looked  up 
at  him  without  a  word,  but  he  knew 
that  she  remembered  the  day  he  had 

158 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM'S 

kissed  her  for  the  first  and  only  time. 
"Did  you  know  that  I  had  come  home, 
Annie?"  he  said  again. 

"Yes,"  she  answered,  under  her 
breath.  "Father  told  me  how  you  had 
come  home." 

"I  should  ha'  come  to  see  you  yester 
day,"  Will  pursued.  '  'But  there's  many 
a  thing  to  be  settled  at  home — father 
being  gone,  you  know. ' ' 

"I  was  sorry — I  thought  of  you — I 
went  to  see  your  mother,"  faltered 
Annie,  with  a  timid  glance  of  love  and 
pity. 

"Bless  you  for  your  kindness!"  cried 
Will,  rapturously.  "Mother  never  told 
me." 

"I  hear,"  broke  in  Master  Trent's 
rasping  voice — "I  hear  that  you  have 
been  discharged  from  your  ship,  an' 

159 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM'S 

will  have  to  earn  your  bread  in  Ted- 
dington  henceforth?" 

Will  stared  at  him. 

"What  d'ye  mean,  man?"  he  asked, 
shortly. 

"I  mean  what  I  say,"  retorted  Trent, 
with  a  grin.  "You  be  discharged,  ben't 
you?" 

"Oh,  have  it  your  own  way.  I  certainly 
have  my  discharge  in  my  pocket,  an'  I 
hope  to  earn  my  bread  and  more  too  in 
Teddington,"  said  Will,  too  happy  to 
feel  exasperation  at  such  an  innuendo. 

"I  didn't  hear  what  they  brought 
against  you,"  pursued  Trent,  "but  I 
knew  you  was  discharged. ' ' 

Will  glared  at  him  a  moment;  then, 

finding  resentment  out  of  place,  turned 

back  to  Annie,  and,  leaning  over  her 

shoulder,  helped  her  to  pick  the  roses, 

160 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM'S 

throwing  them  into  her  lifted  apron, 
while  he  whispered  over  and  over  his 
raptures  at  meeting  her.  Once  his 
cheek  touched  the  little  pink  ear,  and 
they  started  apart  guiltily. 

"I'm  afraid  you're  not  entertained, 
Master  Trent,"  said  Annie,  returning 
to  a  consciousness  of  her  double  duties, 
and  remembering  the  claims  of  her 
rebuffed  suitor,  who  stood  glooming  in 
the  background.  ' '  But  then  you  know 
Will  Ware  is  an  old  friend,  an'  I've  not 
seen  him  since  I  was  grown  up. ' ' 

"Oh,"  rejoined  Trent,  with  an  effort 
at  a  smile,  which  was  rendered  hideous 
by  his  rage  coming  in  collision  with 
this  sudden  necessity  for  politeness, 
"I  can  wait  until  Will  Ware  goes. 
Your  mother  asked  me  to  stay  to  tea 
and  supper,  Annie. ' ' 

161 
ii 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM'S 

"You'll   stay  too,  Will?"  she  cried, 
looking  up  at  him. 

.  "No,"  said,  he  gravely,  remem 
bering  his  repulse  from  Mistress 
Snow.  "I  came  only  to  have  one 
look  at  you,  Annie,  an'  to  bring 
you  a  few  poor  keepsakes  I  picked 
up  in  foreign  parts.  I'd  like  to 
stay  if  your  mother  had  asked  me, 
Annie,"  he  added,  looking  into  her 
face  and  sighing.  Her  loveliness 
stirred  so  maddening  a  thrill  that  he 
experienced  a  powerful,  almost  pain 
ful  emotion,  when  her  full  glance  an 
swered  his.  He  thrust  his  hand  into 
his  pocket  and  brought  out  his  little 
presents,  just  to  hide  the  rush  of  feeling 
which  came  over  him. 

"I've    brought    you    a    queer    fan, 
Annie,"  said  he.     "It  smells  o*  sandal  - 
162 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM'S 

wood,  an'  you  may  like  it.  An'  here's 
some  shells  from  Ceylon,  and  some 
ivory  carvings  from  China  and  Bom 
bay,  which  may  make  you  laugh,  they 
are  so  queer.  An'  here's  a  sort  o' 
pocket,  such  as  the  Indian  women  make 
in  America." 

He  tossed  them  one  after  another 
into  her  lap  as  she  sat  on  the  bench. 

"I've  another  present  for  you, 
Annie,"  he  whispered  in  her  ear,  "but 
that  shall  wait. ' ' 

Here  he  half  drew  a  little  ring  with 
sapphires  from  his  waistcoat  pocket, 
then  slid  it  back. 

"Since  'tis  the  fashion  to  give  pres 
ents  in  public,"  observed  Master  Trent, 
advancing  with  a  sour,  disagreeable 
laugh,  "I'll  take  this  opportunity  to 
give  you  a  little  box  wi'  something  in  it 

163 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM'S 

for  you,  Annie,  which  may  have  cost  as 
much  as  Will  Ware's  trumpery,  although 
I  didn't  go  so  far  for  it." 

"I  make  no  gifts  to  a  girl  who  counts 
their  cost  in  counting  their  worth," 
cried  Will,  hotly.  "But  let's  see  Master 
Trent's  present,  Annie,  an'  we'll  guess 
how  many  golden  guineas  he  paid  for 
it." 

Annie  was  used  to  being  casus  belli 
between  her  lovers,  hence  cared  little 
about  these  defiant  sarcasms,  and  sat 
meanwhile  holding  a  brilliant  conch- 
shell  to  her  ear  with  the  naive  wonder 
of  a  child  at  the  roar.  But,  as  Trent 
handed  her  his  offering,  she  dropped 
the  shell  and  took  the  little  box,  smiling 
and  blushing  as  she  looked  up  into  the 
grim,  yellow  face.  Then  she  threw 
Will  a  glance  which  convinced  him  that 
164 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM'S 

in  spite  of  all  these  coquetries  she  cared 
nothing  for  Trent;  and  at  last,  after 
toying  daintily  with  the  little  casket  of 
purple  morocco,  opened  it  with  a  kit- 
tenis  hair,  and  then  shrieked  with  rap 
ture. 

"Oh  Master  Trent,  I  never  did  see 
anything  so  beautiful." 

For  on  the  satin  lining  lay  a  chain  and 
locket  of  gold.  The  mind  of  a  pretty 
girl  is  thoroughly  subjective.  For 
Annie  to  see  beauty  in  any  shape  was 
to  long  to  appropriate  it  to  her  own 
adornment.  A  flower  was  not  half  a 
flower  until  it  nestled  in  her  throat  or 
hair.  Hence  now,  after  one  glance  at 
her  costly  present,  she  drew  it  out,  and 
with  a  swift  movement  and  arch  smile 
clasped  the  necklace  about  her  throat, 
and  the  locket,  bright  with  blue  enamel 
165 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM'S 

and  set  with  pearls,  hung  down  the 
snowy  neck  half  exposed  by  the  square 
cut  of  her  bodice. 

Each  man  gave  a  start.  Will  blushed 
jealously,  while  Trent's  face  lighted  as 
he  remembered  that  it  was  his  locket 
which  rose  and  fell  with  every  breath 
of  that  tender  breast.  But  neither 
spoke,  and  Annie's  vain  little  heart 
sank,  for  she  had  expected  flattery  from 
both. 

"You  might  just  say  if  I  look  nice  in 
it ! "  she  exclaimed  with  a  pout,  as  little 
understanding  the  gush  of  feeling  which 
exalted  both  her  lovers  as  a  new-born 
babe  understands  the  rapture  of  its 
mother's  kiss.  "Do  I  look  so  ugly, 
then?"  she  asked  Will,  with  a  little 
grimace,  and,  springing  up,  his  presents 
slipped  from  her  lap,  and  were  scat- 
166 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM'S 

tered  on  the  grass.  "Don't  mind,  Will," 
she  said,  coaxingly.  "I'll  pick  'em  up 
presently,  but  now  I  want  to  run  to 
mother's  room  an'  see  how  I  look." 

"I'll  tell  you  how  you  look,  Annie," 
cried  Will,  snatching  her  hand — "you 
look  as  if  all  the  beautiful  things  in  the 
world  were  made  for  you;  not  that 
they  make  you  prettier,  but  that  they 
show  a  man  how  beautiful  they  are 
when  you  wear  them.  Still,  all  the 
same,  Annie — " 

"But  what,  Will?"  she  asked,  as  he 
broke  off.  "What  were  you  going  to 
say?" 

"I  like  you  best  i'  your  plain  gown 
with  a  rose  in  your  hair.  Nothing  can 
make  a  rose  more  beautiful — no,  not  if 
it  stands  in  a  gold  vase. ' ' 

"For  my  part,"  said  Master  Trent, 
167 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM'S 

with  elation,  "I  like  to  see  a  woman 
bravely  rigged  out.  My  wife  shall  wear 
the  handsomest  silk  gowns  in  Tedding- 
ton — the  ladies  at  the  Chase  shall  not 
be  finer.  I'll  put  money  in  her  purse, 
to  let  her  buy  what  she  will. ' ' 

But  Annie  was  not  listening.  She 
was  standing  beside  Will ;  his  hand  still 
clasped  hers,  and  his  look  and  touch 
moved  something  in  her  heart  stronger 
than  either  vanity  or  coquetry.  Pres 
ently  her  little  fingers  went  up  to  the 
necklace,  unfastened  it,  drew  it  off,  and 
laid  it  back  in  the  box. 

"Thank  you  for  giving  me  a  chance 
to  try  on  a  real  gold  necklace,  Master 
Trent,"  she  said,  offering  it  to  him  with 
a  little  courtesy. 

"No,  no,  Miss  Annie,"  he  answered, 
with  a  gruff  laugh.  "You'll  keep  it,  if 
168 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM'S 

you  please,  with  many  happy  returns, 
for  your  birthday,  which  I  know  comes 
to-morrow.  Mistress  Snow  herself  gave 
me  leave  to  present  it  to  you." 

Annie  stood  looking  down.  She  could 
bear  without  a  sign  of  emotion  the 
news  that  a  strong  man  loved  her,  but 
she  was  frightened  at  the  thought  that 
her  mother  might  scold  her.  She  was 
recognizing  too  late  the  annoyance 
entailed  by  her  general  habit  of 
coquetry.  She  wished  that  she  had 
never  allowed  Trent  to  believe  for  a 
moment  that  his  visits  to  the  house 
were  welcome  to  anyone  except  her 
mother;  she  wished,  indeed,  that  no 
man  in  the  world  had  ever  thought  of 
her  except  Will,  so  that  there  need  be 
no  clashing  of  old  duty  with  her  new 
inclinations. 

169 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM'S 

"Good-by,  Annie,"  spoke  Will, 
breaking  the  silence  which  only  the 
bird's  twitter  and  the  farmyard  noises 
interrupted.  "I'll  see  you  after  church 
to-morrow  if  the  weather  is  fine." 

Annie  smiled  faintly,  and  at  his  mo 
tion  her  little  hand  flew  toward  his,  and 
nestled  in  it.  He  drew  her  with  him 
across  the  grass-plot,  all  the  time  whis 
pering  in  her  ear  until  he  gained  the 
shadowed  porch.  He  was  no  laggard 
in  love,  and  found  time  all  in  this  mo 
ment  to  tell  his  story  of  passionate  long 
ing,  to  gain  her  answer  in  return,  to 
steal  a  kiss  from  her  lips,  and  to  put  his 
ring  of  sapphires  on  her  finger. 

He  left  her  with  such  a  tumult  at  her 

heart,  and  such  blushes  on  her  cheek, 

that  Annie  dared  not  go  back  to  Trent 

at  once,  so  called  to  him  that  she  must 

170 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM'S 

get  out  the  blue  china,  and  lay  the 
cloth  for  tea  against  the  return  of  Mis 
tress  Snow. 


171 


II. 

WILL  WARE  belonged  essentially 
to  the  class  of  lucky  Lochin- 
vars,  and  could  woo  and  win  a  wife 
and  carry  her  off,  if  need  be,  under 
the  very  eyes  of  his  rival.  Joshua 
Trent,  on  the  other  hand,  had  none 
of  those  parts  about  him  which  carry 
captive  a  girl's  fancy.  He  was  dark 
and  stern  in  face,  shackeled  in  move 
ment,  with  a  voice  which  could  not 
attune  itself  to  gentle  meanings,  and, 
above  all,  a  mind  which,  however 
quick  in  defining  its  own  needs,  never 
expanded  into  real  sympathy  with  an 
other's.  A  long  line  of  cold,  narrow- 

173 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM'S 

natured  progenitors  had  made  him  what 
he  was,  and  thirty  years  of  exacting 
selfishness  had  rendered  him  powerless 
to  conquer  the  despotism  of  his  sullen, 
gloomy  disposition.  No  thrill  of  awe 
before  God,  no  pity  for  his  kind,  had 
ever  linked  him  in  bonds  of  hope  and 
sympathy  with  other  men ;  he  experi 
enced  no  sense  of  dearness  or  nearness 
when  observing  the  exquisite  pageant 
of  Nature,  and  cared  nothing  for  the 
crystal  dome  of  sky,  the  lake,  now  blue 
as  hyacinth-bells,  again  glassing  a  chaos 
of  storm-driven  clouds,  nor  the  oaken 
glades  where  lights  and  shadows  played 
endlessly.  Yet  dull  and  blank  although 
his  mind  was  to  what  we  term  in  gen 
eral  its  finer  uses,  he  was  endowed 
beyond  other  men  with  a  powerful 
capacity  of  feeling  for  his  own  wants, 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM'S 

and  all  his  ardor  of  imagination,  other 
wise  suppressed,  had  spent  itself  in  his 
love  for  Annie  Snow.  He  had  loved 
her  since  she  was  a  child,  and  this 
experience  had  undoubtedly  been  a 
check  upon  other  ambitions  and  inter 
ests.  She  was  but  fourteen  when  his 
eyes  first  kindled  into  admiration  at 
sight  of  her ;  for  the  first  four  years  he 
never  once  spoke  to  her,  yet  watched 
for  hours  to  see  her  pass  along  the  lane, 
and  knew  by  heart  the  ribbons  that  she 
wore — the  very  buckles  on  her  shoes. 
He  was  no  coward,  but  a  schemer,  and 
could  hold  grip  over  his  heart  and 
tongue  while  he  bided  his  time,  and  thus 
continued  to  work  himself  into  Mistress 
Snow's  good  graces  long  before  he 
asked  her  consent  to  his  paying  his 
court  to  Annie. 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM'S 

Mistress  Snow  had  been  a  coquette  in 
her  youth,  and,  as  a  woman  of  middle 
age,  her  self-love  had  taken  the  shape 
of  ambition  and  avarice.  Now,  the 
Trents  had  held  Manor  Farm  by  honest 
title  for  upwards  of  three  hundred 
years;  and  the  old  house,  half  farm 
house,  half  gentleman's  manor,  had 
many  a  fine  tradition  of  the  thrift  and 
wealth  of  by-gone  Trents.  Many  a 
proud  marriage  had  these  vanished 
generations  of  Trents  made,  and  many 
a  boast  might  Joshua  vaunt  of  his  high 
relations  in  the  next  county.  Hence, 
when  Mistress  Snow  learned  that  the 
young  man  wanted  Annie,  she  felt  that 
such  a  marriage  would  suit  her  aspira 
tions  for  her  only  child.  She  had  given 
a  ready  consent  to  Joshua's  suit,  and 
had  not  been  slow  in  influencing  her 
176 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM'S 

daughter  toward  him.  Yet,  with  all  the 
prestige  thus  gained,  the  lover  made 
haste  slowly. 

Many  a  present  of  fruit  and  vege 
tables,  and  game,  came  to  Mistress 
Snow  from  Manor  Farm,  and  once  all 
the  Snows  spent  a  day  at  Trent's 
house,  and  viewed  with  admiration, 
tinged  with  awe,  the  wide  hall,  rich 
wainscots  and  carvings,  black  with  age. 
Then  Mistress  Snow  and  Annie  had 
enjoyed  glimpses  of  old  presses  filled 
with  treasures  of  linen  they  well  knew 
how  to  value,  and  they  had  looked  into 
the  great  kitchen,  with  its  fireplace  large 
enough  to  roast  an  ox  whole ;  while  Far 
mer  Snow  could  not  half  express  his  ad 
miration  of  the  farm  outside,  with  its 
well  tilled  fields  and  woods,  the  full  gar 
ners,  and  the  horses,  cattle,  and  poultry. 
177 

12 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM'S 

Annie  knew  very  well  that  she  might 
be  mistress  of  all  this  wealth  if  she  but 
gave  her  hand  to  Joshua  Trent.  But 
in  her  heart  she  thought  the  house 
gloomy,  and  her  spirits  shrank  at  the 
picture  her  imagination  was  swift  to 
present— of  herself  chained  there  in  her 
bright  youth ;  sitting  in  those  quaintly- 
carved,  high-backed  chairs ;  sleeping  in 
the  vast,  melancholy  bed,  where  grim 
Trents  had  died  generation  after  gen 
eration  ;  presiding  at  that  long,  funereal 
table,  with  Joshua  opposite,  only  less 
yellow  and  hideous  than  his  father's 
picture  above  him  on  the  wall.  For 
girls  have  swift  divinations  when  they 
do  not  love  a  man,  and,  though  keeping 
their  minds  in  the  bounds  of  maidenly 
thought,  may  yet  foresee  with  exactness 
all  the  aspects  of  married  life.  Before 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM'S 

Will  Ware's  return  there  had  been 
moments  when,  wholly  under  her 
mother's  influence,  she  believed  a  life 
with  a  rich  husband  like  Trent  not 
wholly  unendurable.  But  Will's  glances, 
and  Will's  clasp  of  her  hand,  had  been 
a  magical  test ;  all  that  was  false  and 
artificial  in  her  nature  vanished  under 
the  power  of  this  new  feeling,  and  she 
instantly  ceased  to  think  of  Trent  save 
as  a  disagreeable  shadow  in  the  bright 
ness  of  her  world. 

What  she  did  think  of  was  Will — his 
looks,  tones,  and  words,  at  their  last 
meeting ;  his  returning  on  the  morrow ; 
and,  now  that  he  had  come,  a  quality 
softer,  gentler,  lovelier,  had  developed 
in  her  face  and  manners;  a  sort  of 
dependence  and  clinging  to  something 
stronger  and  better  than  herself,  which 
179 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM'S 

was  met   and    fully   answered   by  his 
manly  tenderness. 

Joshua  Trent  was  not  slow  to  dis 
cover  this  change  in  Annie,  and  he 
watched  her  altered  manner  to  himself, 
as  she  shyly  withdrew  from  his  proffered 
attentions,  with  a  steadily  increasing 
jealousy  and  wrath.  He  observed,  too, 
that  he  had  lost  the  ear  of  Mistress 
Snow;  true,  when  he  did  insist  upon 
addressing  her  privately  upon  the  sub 
ject  of  Will  Ware's  attentions  to  Annie, 
she  had  said  that  she  knew  nothing; 
that  the  master  would  let  his  only  child 
choose  the  man  of  her  heart ;  that  things 
must  bide  their  time;  that  nobody 
could  tell  what  romantic  folly  lay  at  the 
root  of  a  girl's^  mind,  let  her  training 
have  been  what  it  might.  All  of  which 
Trent  listened  to  with  a  look  on  his 
180 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM'S 

sombre  face,  and  a  contraction  of  the 
muscles  about  his  mouth,  and  a  motion 
of  his  hands,  that  led  Mistress  Snow 
much  into  Annie's  way  of  thinking  that 
he  would  never  make  a  kind  husband. 
In  fact,  pondering  the  matter,  she  told 
herself  with  relief  that,  although  Will 
Ware  came  of  humble  stock,  everybody 
knew  him  to  have  the  sweetest  temper 
of  any  man  in  Teddington. 

One  afternoon,  late  in  August,  Annie 
Snow  was  returning  from  a  tea-drinking 
with  friends  in  the  next  parish.  Some 
of  them  had  walked  with  her  half-way, 
but  at  the  stile,  just  before  crossing  the 
great  meadows  beyond  the  Chase, 
Annie  bade  them  good-by,  and,  skirting 
the  fields  of  rye,  now  ready  for  harvest, 
she  turned  into  the  quiet  lane  which 
led  toward  home.  She  had  picked  a 
181 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM'S 

handful  of  poppies  as  she  came  through 
the  rye,  and  had  put  a  knot  of  them  in 
her  dark,  shining  braids,  and  another 
on  her  breast.  She  was  walking  slowly ; 
and,  as  she  advanced,  swinging  her 
bonnet  in  her  hand,  made  a  picture  fair 
enough  to  fire  any  lover.  She  was  loit 
ering  a  little,  because  it  was  not  yet 
seven  o'clock,  and  Will  could  not  meet 
her  at  the  great  oak  until  it  had  passed 
the  half -hour.  Thinking  of  the  coming 
interview,  she  was  in  a  mood  of  happy 
reverie,  and  to  Trent,  who  had  been 
watching  for  her  since  six  o'clock,  and 
now  beheld  her  approach,  she  seemed  a 
maddening  vision  of  beauty.  Although 
for  an  hour  he  had  been  hiding  in  the 
coppice,  straining  his  eyes  in  every 
direction  in  the  hope  of  seeing  her,  now 
that  she  did  appear  in  full  view,  the 
182 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM'S 

sight  filled  him  with  a  burning,  shud 
dering  pain  akin  to  dread.  His  glance 
fastened  upon  her  as  if  he  were  under  a 
spell  while  she  unconsciously  advanced. 
She  seemed  to  have  gained  height  and 
breadth  of  late ;  her  form  was  magnifi 
cent,  and  the  elastic  pride  of  her  step 
seemed  cruelly  beautiful  to  the  man 
who  felt  his  hopes  trampled  beneath 
her  feet. 

She  drew  nearer ;  there  was  the  pure 
white  forehead,  with  the  delicate  rings 
of  curls  about  it.  Trent  saw  the  pop 
pies  in  her  hair,  and  the  flame  they 
made  upon  her  breast.  With  a  beating 
heart  he  emerged  from  his  covert  and 
drew  near  her. 

"Good-evening,"  said  she,  opening 
her  dark  eyes  with  a  look  of  surprise, 
yet  speaking  as  if  she  were  too  deeply 

183 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM'S 

engrossed    in    thought  to  be   aroused 
from  her  reverie. 

"Good-evening,  Miss  Annie,"  he 
answered,  coolly,  walking  beside  her. 
"Perhaps  you'll  be  glad  of  my  company 
along  this  lonely  lane?" 

"No,  thank  you!"  she  returned  with 
spirit.  "I  am  well  used  to  going  alone, 
an'  can  take  care  of  myself.  You  are 
far  away  from  your  own  home,  Master 
Trent,  so  I'll  bid  you  good-night." 

"Maybe  you're  expecting  some  other 
sweetheart, ' '  said  Trent,  his  face  grow 
ing  black.  "But  stop  one  moment, 
Annie  Snow.  To  my  mind,  a  man  like 
Joshua  Trent,  of  Manor  Farm,  has  some 
rights  over  the  woman  he  has  been 
courtin'  for  more'n  a  year!  Perhaps 
I'm  not  so  patient  as  you  think!  I  want 
a  wife,  an'  I  want  her  now,  an'  if  it  so 
184 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM'S 

pleases  you,  we'll  have  the  banns  called 
next  Sunday. ' ' 

Annie  regarded  him  scornfully. 

"You  must  be  dreaming,  Master 
Trent;  or,  if  you're  joking,  no  man 
should  dare  to  joke  o'  having  his  name 
called  \vi'  mine." 

He  looked  at  her  silently  raging ;  she 
could  hear  him  grind  his  teeth. 

"By — !"  said  he,  under  his  breath, 
"you  shall  marry  me,  Annie  Snow! 
I'm  not  the  man  for  a  girl  to  fool  with — 
accepting  his  presents,  going  to  look  at 
his  house,  an'  all.  You  shall  marry  me, 
I  say!" 

She  laughed  insolently. 

"Did  I  wantyour  presents?"  she  cried. 
"Go  gather  fruit  from  our  trees,  and 
make  up  your  poultry  from  our  farm 
yard.    As  for  your  chain  an'  locket,  you 
185 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM'S 

know  very  well  I  never  took  it — 
mother'll  be  glad  to  give  it  back  to  you, 
You  know  I  told  you  that  over  an'  over, 
so  'twas  your  own  fault  for  leaving  it 
behind  you." 

She  was  so  fair  in  her  scorn,  while 
her  cheeks  flamed  high  as  the  poppies 
in  color,  that  his  love  smote  him  to  sup 
plication. 

"O  Annie,"  said  he,  going  up  to  her 
and  speaking  under  the  influence  of 
strong  emotion,  "I  did  think  you  were 
beginning  to  like  me !  What  else  have 
I  thought  of  these  five  years  that's 
gone?  I  ha'  not  set  out  a  tree,  nor 
marked  one  to  be  cut  down,  nor 
counted  my  lambs,  nor  weighed  my 
wool,  nor  called  home  my  cattle,  but 
what  I  ha'  thought,  'All  this  is  for 
Annie  Snow  to  take. '  I  ha'  thought  of 
1 86 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM'S 

you  every  spring  at  planting-time,  I 
ha'  thought  o'  you  in  the  heats  o'  sum 
mer,  an'  more  than  ever  in  the  fall  as 
I  sat  over  the  fire,  until  in  winter-time 
there  was  naught  else  to  do  save  to 
think,  'Some  day  she  may  be  here.' 
...  I  tell  you,  girl,  you  can't  get  over 
facts  like  these.  I  am  thirty  years  old, 
an'  ever  since  I  was  five-and-twenty  I 
ha'  made  up  my  mind  to  ha'  you  for  my 
wife.  Before  mother  died  she  called 
me  to  her  an"  said,  'Joshua,  thee  must 
take  a  wife  now.'  An'  I  told  her,  'I'm 
a-waitin',  mother,  for  the  time  when 
Annie  Snow  grows  to  be  a  woman.' 
An'  she  died  believing  you  were  to  be 
mistress  o'  Manor  Farm.  .  .  .  An'  it 
must  be  so,  Annie.  You  can't  begin  to 
guess  what  it  is  for  a  man  to  put  his 
hope  in  a  girl  for  five  whole  years!  All 
187 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM'S 

his  thoughts  learn  to  tread  one  path,  and 
that  toward  her;  an'  that  path  burns 
deeper  into  his  soul  every  day,  an' 
month,  an'  year — for  to  go  on  seeing 
her,  thinking  o'the  time  she  is  to  be  his 
wife,  makes  him  half  mad  in  his  joy  at 
her  beauty.  .  .  .An' — an' — an' — you've 
been  good  to  me,  Annie,  most  times; 
an',  till  Will  Ware  came  home,  I  never 
doubted  for  a  moment  that  you  were 
sure  to  marry  me  when  the  time  came !" 
Annie  had  gazed  at  him  awed,  almost 
stupefied,  by  this  sudden  show  of  vehe 
mence,  and  she  was  terrified,  besides, 
at  the  working  of  his  sombre  face, 
which  in  its  grief  and  passion  grew 
unfamiliar  and  grotesque.  But,  when 
he  came  nearer  with  his  arms  out 
stretched,  she  withdrew,  with  her  air  of 
girlish  caprice. 

1 88 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM'S 

' '  I  never  heard, ' '  she  said,  haughtily, 
"as  how  a  girl  is  to  blame  if  a  man 
makes  up  his  mind  against  her  wishes 
that  he  wants  to  marry  her!  Five 
years  ago  I  was  fourteen,  an'  I  never 
thought  then  o'  marrying  you,  nor  did 
I  think  of  it  last  year,  nor  do  I  think  of 
it  to-day — thanking  you  all  the  same 
for  believing  me  to  be  a  fit  mistress 
for  Manor  Farm — which  is  a  house 
for  a  girl  to  be  proud  of,  if  she 
wants  to  marry  a  house,  an'  farrows 
o'  pigs,  an'  droves  o1  cattle,  an'  cribs 
o'  corn!" 

'"Twas  but  to  show  I  was  backed  by 
something  fit  for  you  to  take  that  I 
talked  o'  Manor  Farm,"  interposed 
Trent,  humbly.  "An'  if  you  marry 
me,  Annie,  you  shall  live  like  a  lady, 
you  shall,  indeed!  an'  shall  have  a  car- 
189 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM'S 

riage  with  two  gray  ponies   like   the 
young  ladies  at  the  Chase." 

Annie  gave  a  light  laugh. 

"I'll  not  say,  Master  Trent,"  she 
returned,  easily,  "that  I  should  not  like 
to  live  like  a  lady,  an'  be  idle  all  day, 
an'  drive  about  after  a  pair  o'  long- 
tailed  gray  ponies ;  but" — here  she  sent 
him  a  swift  glance  which  thrilled  him 
from  head  to  foot — "but,"  she  went  on, 
with  a  sudden  intensity  of  look  and  man 
ner,  "though  I  may  like  to  have  all 
things  easy  and  pleasant,  I  would  rather 
work  my  fingers  to  the  bone  for  the 
man  I  love,  than  to  sit  on  a  gold  throne 
with  a  crown  on  my  head,  an'  have  a  man 
I  didna  care  for  as  my  husband ! ' ' 

Trent  was  trembling  under  the  fer 
vor  of  her  words  and  the  passion  of  her 
face.     He  caught  her  in  his  arms. 
190 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM'S 

"You  shall  be  my  wife!"  he  mut 
tered,  with  a  terrible  oath;  "you  shall 
be  my  wife,  let  it  cost  me  what  it  may ! 
I'll  risk  anything  before  I  let  you  go 
away  free  to  marry  another  man!" 

He  tried  to  kiss  her,  but  she  was 
little  less  powerful  than  he,  and  with 
a  convulsive  wrench  she  escaped  him, 
darted  to  a  safe  distance,  then  flung 
back  a  few  rankling  words : 

"I  marry  you,  Master  Trent!  I'd 
marry  the  ploughboy  sooner — sooner 
yet,  I'd  die  before  I'd  be  your  wife!" 

She  flew  down  the  lane  with  a  spring 
like  a  startled  doe,  and  Trent  was  left 
fixed  and  motionless  as  if  turned  to 
stone.  In  his  heart  and  mind  he  felt  the 
inner  tempest  of  strong  feeling,  and 
knew  what  it  was  to  be  alive,  to  suffer, 
to  long,  to  despair.  He  was  unused  to 
191 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM'S 

emotion,  and  this  impotent  desire 
goaded  him  like  a  bull.  He  felt  the 
girl's  beauty  with  a  thirst,  a  fury  of 
admiration ;  all  his  long,  patient  wait 
ing,  all  his  repressed  but  ardent  hopes, 
glared  in  upon  him,  mocking  him  with 
the  misery  of  his  humiliation  and  his 
loss. 

For  twenty  minutes  after  she  left  him 
he  stood  just  where  she  had  torn  herself 
from  his  arms,  fixed,  every  muscle  rigid 
with  the  frightful  pain  he  was  experi 
encing.  All  at  once  he  started.  He 
heard  a  whistle,  and  divined  instinct 
ively  what  was  to  happen.  He  stooped 
and  picked  up  a  scarlet-beaded  pocket 
which  he  had  torn  from  Annie's  belt  in 
the  struggle,  and  turning  a  little  from 
the  path  leaned  against  a  tree.  In 
another  moment  Will  Ware  appeared 
192 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM'S 

arounS  the  turning-  of  the  lane,  walking 
rapidly,  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets, 
and  whistling  "When  the  Bloom  is  on 
the  Rye."  He  stopped  short  as  he  saw 
Trent,  and  gazed  at  him  with  astonish 
ment  and  curiosity.  Trent,  as  if  uncon 
scious  of  anyone's  vicinity,  was  press 
ing  his  lips  with  frenzy  to  the  scarlet 
pocket  he  held  in  his  hand. 

"How  are  you,  Mr.  Joshua  Trent?" 
said  Will,  dryly.  "Pretty  well  wrapped 
up  in  what  you're  doin',  eh?  I  happen 
to  know  the  owner  of  that  trifle  you 
hold  in  your  hand.  I  expect  you  picked 
it  up  here  in  the  lane.  '  ' 

Trent  had  turned  with  an  affectation 
of  sullen  surprise.  "Good-evening  to 
you,  '  '  said  he,  curtly,  and  stuffed  the 
pocket  inside  his  waistcoat. 

"I'll    trouble    you   for  that  pocket, 


13 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM'S 

Joshua  Trent,"  cried  Will,  with  plenty 
of  determination  in  his  voice.  ' '  I  know 
very  well  the  person  it  belongs  to,  an' 
'tis  but  fair  for  you  to  give  it  up  at 
once.  I  bought  it  myself  from  an  Indian 
woman  in  Canada,  an'  you,  certainly, 
ha'  no  right  to  it." 

"The  best  right  of  any  man  alive," 
responded  Trent,  with  a  hideous  leer. 

"The  right  of  a  thief!"  said  Will, 
hotly.  "Give  it  me  this  minute,  or  it 
shall  be  the  worse  for  you. ' ' 

Trent  laughed  insolently,  and  sat 
down  on  the  rock  with  his  legs  astride. 
"Here's  a  pretty  mess,"  he  ejaculated, 
with  a  chuckle.  "P'r'aps  you'd  like  me 
to  render  up  everything  my  little  black- 
eyed  Annie  ever  gave  to  me. ' ' 

His  face  and  mien  added  fuel  to  Will's 
anger. 

194 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM'S 

"She  has  given  ye  nothing  but  bare 
civility,"  said  he.  "I  know  your  pur 
pose,  Master  Trent,  an'  'tis  unworthy 
an  honest  man.  Gi'  me  her  property, 
I  say.  I  ha'  the  best,  the  only  right  to 
whatever  is  hers." 

"What  right?"  demanded  Trent, 
coolly. 

' '  The  right  o'  her  prom ised  husband. ' ' 

"Her  husband!"  shrieked  Trent, 
with  a  grin.  "You  can't  be  such  a  fool, 
Will  Ware,  as  to  go  to  her  for  a  wife. 
Buy  her  more  cheap,  an'  seek  an  honest 
girl  if  you  want  a  wife.  Annie  Snow's 
beauty  might  redeem  a  trifle  o'  light 
ness,  but  such  lightness  as  hers  ought 
to  damn  even  her  beauty. ' ' 

Will  stood  a  moment  motionless, 
staring  at  Trent  with  eyes  in  which 
amazement  turned  slowly  to  fierceness 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM'S 

as  the  meaning  of  the  words  smote  him 
like  red-hot  missiles.  Trent  continued 
to  look  at  him  with  his  fiendish  grin, 
and,  taking  out  poor  Annie's  pocket, 
gave  it  a  caress. 

At  this  sight,  possessed  by  a  frantic 
rage,  Will  tore  it  from  him,  and,  bran 
dishing  his  fist  in  his  face,  bade  him 
take  back  his  words. 

"You  lie,  you  false,  cowardly  scoun 
drel!"  he  muttered,  in  a  stifled  voice. 
"Take  back  your  words,  or  I'll  crush 
your  head  against  the  very  stone  you're 
sitting  on!" 

"If  you  want  to  fight,"  returned 
Trent,  rising  with  the  bound  of  a  tiger, 
"I'll  fight  you  willingly.  But  for  a 
light  o'  love  like  Annie  Snow — " 

Trent  had  no  chance  to  add  another 
word;  all  his  strength  was  needed  to 
196 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM'S 

parry  Will' s  blows.  For  a  few  seconds 
neither  yielded;  then  Trent,  tired  of 
acting  on  the  defensive,  and  watching 
for  an  opportunity,  flung  himself  on 
Will,  and  the  two  men,  closing  on  each 
other,  wrestled  with  the  fierceness  of 
panthers.  The  struggle  was  short.  It 
was  not  long  before  they  fell  to  the 
ground,  and  Will  was  uppermost,  with 
his  hand  on  the  other's  throat. 

' '  Don' t  kill  me ! "  gurgled  Trent.  ' '  I 
take  it  back.  'Twas  but  to  fool  you.  I 
picked  up  the  pocket. ' ' 

Will  withdrew  his  clutch  reluctantly ; 
his  wrath  was  fully  aroused,  and  he  felt 
his  vengeance  still  unwreaked. 

"Lie  there,  you  cowardly  scoundrel ! " 
said  he,  rising  and  looking  down  at  his 
opponent,  and  kicking  him  contemptu 
ously — "lie  there  until  I  am  out  of  sight, 
197 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM'S 

and  don't  come  within  a  mile  of  Chase 
Farm  again,  or  I'll  finish  what  I  have 
only  begun  to-night — I  swear,  by  hea 
ven,  I  will!" 


198 


III. 

TRENT'S  insane  outburst  of  jeal 
ousy  had  the  effect  of  such  un 
guarded  outbursts,  and  defeated  his 
own  schemes  of  separating  the  lovers. 
Annie  never  heard  of  the  fracas 
among  the  tall  ferns  in  the  summer 
twilight,  but  Will  told  her  parents,  and 
in  consequence  they  withdrew  every 
semblance  of  opposition  to  his  suit,  and 
allowed  him  to  press  for  an  early  wed 
ding-day,  which  was  fixed  for  the  third 
week  in  October.  Mistress  Snow  had 
looked  forward  to  her  child's  wedding- 
day  ever  since  her  birth,  and  no  Ger 
man  Fraulein  was  ever  better  provided 
199 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM'S 

with  hoarded  stores  for  her  outfit  than 
was  Annie.  Then,  besides  the  counting 
out  of  linen,  and  flannel,  and  damask, 
at  the  farm,  there  was  the  new  home  to 
be  provided  with  everything  befitting, 
and  many  an  afternoon  in  September 
did  the  farmer's  wife  spend  with  gentle, 
helpless,  deaf  Mistress  Ware,  who  was 
but  too  glad  to  yield  to  every  sugges 
tion  of  the  thrifty  dame's. 

"For,  after  all,"  remarked  Mistress 
Snow,  on  her  return,  "the  house  is  not 
so  bad,  though  Will's  mother  is  too  easy 
an'  comfortable  a  creature  to  make  the 
best  of  what  she  has.  You'll  soon  get 
things  to  your  liking,  Annie,  even  if 
there  be  but  five  rooms,  an',  if  you 
haven't  a  great  waste  o'  spare-rooms, 
an'  store-rooms,  an'  dairies,  an'  the  like, 
the  less  the  care  of  'em  will  make  an 
200 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM'S 

old  woman  of  you  by  the  time  you  are 
thirty.  Then  to  see  the  clever  little 
contrivances  Will  sits  up  half  the  night 
to  work  out  makes  me  half  ready  to  fall 
in  love  with  him  myself.  I  doubt  not 
but  what  you'll  be  a  happy  wife,  Annie. 
There  ha'  been  times  when  I  was  ambi 
tious  for  my  only  child,  but  now  I  like 
to  think  you're  sure  to  marry  a  good  an' 
just  man,  besides  being  the  handsomest 
young  fellow  in  all  Teddington,"  the 
mother  added,  smiling  and  stroking  the 
soft  hair  of  the  happy  girl  whose  head 
lay  across  her  breast. 

Many  a  rough  joke  had  Will  to  parry 
or  endure  in  these  days,  but  he  was 
both  too  happy  and  too  busy  to  care 
what  was  going  on  in  the  world  outside 
his  own  hopes  and  efforts.  He  proved 
a  swift  and  careful  workman,  and 
201 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM'S 

had  found  plenty  of  occupation  in  Ted- 
dington,  and  now  was  busy  repairing 
the  high  steeple  of  St.  Chrysostom's.  It 
was  a  job  which  had  been  waiting  three 
years  for  a  good  workman.  Many  a 
man  had  come  from  other  towns,  looked 
at  the  high  tower,  shaken  his  head 
and  gone  away.  There  was  plenty  of 
risk ;  life  or  death  must  depend  upon  a 
single  rope,  upon  the  steadiness  of 
head,  eye,  and  hand ;  and  the  man  who 
undertook  it  must  peril  his  life  as  does 
the  soldier  his  in  battle.  So  the  timid 
had  said,  but  not  Will  Ware,  who  had  not 
a  drop  of  coward's  blood  in  his  veins. 
Yet  he  was  never  reckless ;  he  was  care 
ful  about  every  inch  of  scaffolding,  and 
allowed  no  man  to  touch  his  ropes  but 
himself. 

"Don't  fret,  Annie,"  he  said  to  her 

202       ' 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM'S 

once  as  she  told  him  her  fears;  "I'm  as 
safe  in  the  spire  as  you  are  here,  my 
pet.  Let  them  tell  you,  if  they  like, 
that,  when  they  look  up  from  the  mar 
ket-place,  I  seem  like  a  fly  crawling 
about  the  steeple.  That's  very  likely. 
But  don' t  think  I  love  my  life  so  little 
as  to  take  no  precautions.  Indeed,  'tis 
a  joke  at  the  shop  about  the  time  I 
spend  over  my  ropes.  Be  sure  I  keep 
my  senses  hard  at  work  lookin'  out  for 
danger." 

Thus  secure,  it  was  not  a  hard  fate  to 
Will  to  spend  his  working-hours  far 
above  the  sweltering  heats  of  summer 
and  early  autumn — above  the  coarse 
jokes  of  the  shop,  and  the  poor  hilarity, 
the  hard  thoughts,  and  the  rivalry.  So, 
one  September  day,  a  little  door  far  up 
in  the  tower  of  great  St.  Chrysostom's 
203 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM'S 

— looking  to  the  gazers  down  in  the 
market-place  hardly  bigger  than  a 
man's  hand — opened.  Bats  and  owls 
flew  out  into  the  sunshine;  then  a 
human  head  appeared,  and  a  pair  of 
stout  arms,  which  soon  made  a  flying 
scaffolding — tier  after  tier,  ladder  after 
ladder — until  the  top  of  the  spire  was 
reached. 

It  was  there  that  Will  Ware  had 
worked  for  many  a  long  day  alone, 
bound  by  a  cord  to  the  pinnacle, 
descending  lower  and  lower  as  his  ham 
mer  fastened  on  the  slates  with  swift, 
heavy  strokes.  It  seemed  to  him,  these 
fleeting,  early  autumn  days,  that  he  was 
very  near  to  heaven;  the  sky  was  to 
him  softer  and  bluer  than  when  seen 
from  the  lower  earth ;  wavering,  gleam 
ing  apparitions  of  clouds  floated  by  like 
204 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM'S 

angels  flying  on  their  lovely  missions ; 
street-sounds  came  to  his  ears  made 
musical  by  distance,  and  the  swallows 
twittered  about  him  all  day  long.  When 
the  summer  waned,  and  the  swallows 
flew  toward  the  eternal  suns,  darting 
forth  an  arrowy  swarm  darkening  the 
air,  Will  shouted  glad  adieux  to  them. 
Well  he  remembered  that  their  flight 
was  no  date  for  him  by  which  to  mark 
coming  darkness  and  winter,  but  rather 
the  joyful  premonition  of  his  glowing 
season  of  delight.  Let  them  fly  toward 
the  summer  lands ;  let  the  leaves  blaze 
into  gold  and  scarlet,  then  fade,  and 
fall,  and  mould !  Will  had  no  dread  of 
the  shortening  days  and  chilling  nights. 
No  wonder  if  he  felt  near  to  heaven 
in  these  times;  no  wonder  if  his  glad 
heart  made  glad  and  easy  work  as  he 
205 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM'S 

thought  of   his  approaching  wedding- 
day! 

The  tall  steeple  of  St.  Chrysostom's 
rises  from  the  tower  in  a  single 
unbroken  line  into  the  sky ;  but  at  the 
base,  where  it  joins  the  buttresses,  is  a 
double  row  of  pinnacles  and  turrets, 
which  change  the  sober  majesty  of 
the  great  church,  relieving  it  with  an 
aspect  of  lightness  and  beauty.  These 
pinnacles  had  first  been  made  of  stone, 
and  beautifully  enriched  at  the  angles 
and  parapets  with  crockets  and  gar 
goyles,  in  those  old  days  when  pious 
hearts  rejoiced  in  quaint  and  careful 
work  as  their  dedication  to  the  Lord; 
but  the  light  and  friable  stone  had  not 
well  stood  the  battle  against  wind  and 
weather  these  three  centuries  and  more, 
and  had  crumbled  dangerously,  until 
206 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM'S 

the  partial  restoration  of  the  church, 
when  turrets  and  piers  were  replaced 
by  plain  designs  in  wood  and  slate. 
This  work  had  been  so  badly  executed 
that  every  storm  ripped  off  the  slates, 
and  sent  them  clattering  down  among 
the  gravestones  below;  and  replacing 
these,  and  repairing  the  leaden  spouts, 
was  now,  of  all  Will's  undertaking,  the 
part  which  presented  most  difficulties. 
As  we  have  seen,  his  ready  contriv 
ance  had  robbed  the  extreme  height  of 
the  spire  of  danger,  and  the  gradual 
swell  had  afforded  him  constant  aid. 
But  now,  below  the  turrets,  he  might 
fairly  be  said  to  be  suspended  'twixt 
heaven  and  earth.  To  have  built  scaffold 
ing  would  have  taken  away  half  the  pro 
fits  of  his  enterprise ;  hence  he  had  for 
weeks  studied  the  situation  from  every 
207 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM'S 

point,  until  he  made  certain  that  he 
could  accomplish  his  work  without  sup 
port  from  below.  No  one  understood 
knotting  and  splicing  better  than  Will. 
His  inch  and  a  quarter  ropes  were  first 
made  fast  to  the  staircase  inside  the 
spire-light,  next  "reeved"  by  blocks 
and  pulleys  to  the  window  casement. 
Then,  with  a  stout  "cable"  about  his 
waist,  and  twice  slung  over  his  shoulder, 
he  could,  by  the  aid  of  another  rope, 
swing  himself  up  and  down  between  the 
window  of  the  steeple  and  the  pinnacles 
of  the  tower  with  the  ease  and  lightness 
of  a  bird  on  the  wing.  It  was  a  triumph 
for  him  thus  to  accomplish  his  work 
alone  and  unassisted.  Never  had  he 
felt  more  proud  over  a  day's  achieve 
ment.  Afterward,  when  he  went  home 
through  the  dusk,  he  found  Annie  wait- 
208 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM'S 

ing  for  him  in  the  thicket  of  rose-bushes 
by  his  own  gate. 

He  saw  her  spring  out,  then  retreat, 
as  if  frightened  at  her  own  boldness ;  so 
what  could  he  do  but  gather  her  into 
his  arms? 

"What  are  you  doin',  Annie?"  he 
whispered. 

"Mother's  in  the  house,"  she  an 
swered.  "I  waited  for  you,  Will.  I 
durst  not  go  in  alone.  Your  mother '11 
talk  of  you,  an'  I  blush;  then  I  feel 
ashamed  to  be  so  foolish." 

But  Will  found  such  folly  adorable, 
and  told  her  so.  They  walked  around 
the  little  garden  hand-in-hand  and  arm- 
in-arm. 

Then  Will  took  her  into  the  street 
and  along  the  town  to  the  market-place, 
to  show  her  how  nearly  finished  was 

209 
14 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM'S 

the  high  steeple  of  St.  Chrysostom's. 
Annie  shuddered  as  she  thought  of 
Will  swinging  there  all  day.  She  hated 
the  sheaves  of  slender  spires  which  had 
hitherto  been  something  to  look  at  with 
delight.  So  she  told  him  as  they  gazed 
up  at  the  turrets  of  the  tower,  so  deli 
cately,  almost  transparently,  limned 
against  the  pale  evening  sky.  Then, 
as  they  went  back  together,  they  en 
countered  Joshua  Trent,  who  passed 
them  scowling,  seeming  to  see  them 
not. 

"Ugh!  it  makes  my  flesh  creep  to 
meet  him,"  whispered  Annie.  But 
Will  laughed. 

"He  can't  hurt  thee,  my  darling." 

It  had  long  been  settled  that  Annie 

was  to  have  one  look  at  her  new  home 

before  coming  to  it  as  a  bride,  and  Mis- 

210 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM'S 

tress  Snow  had  brought  her  over  on  this 
Wednesday  after  dark,  that  the  gossips 
of  Teddington  might  not  discover  her 
visit.  The  two  mothers  watched  the 
young  people  walk  over  the  house  after 
supper.  Annie  was  very  shy,  and  Will 
very  proud  as  he  showed  what  he  had 
done  for  her  comfort  and  convenience ; 
still,  the  thought  of  their  swiftly- 
approaching  future  pressed  upon  him 
as  it  did  upon  Annie. 

"Do  you  love  me,  Annie,  half  as  much 
as  I  love  you?"  he  asked  her. 

"I  love  you  next  to  God,  Will!"  she 
said,  throwing  her  arms  about  his  neck. 

He  held  her  close,  his  face  working, 
his  heart  overwrought  with  strong 
emotion. 

"Tell  me,  Annie,  what  you  love  me 
for,"  said  he  again. 

211 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM'S 

"For  shame,  Will!" 

"But  tell  me,  Annie.  I  love  you 
because  you  have  a  trick  o'  looking  at 
me,  an'  pullin '  heart,  an'  strength,  an' 
sense  right  out  o'  me;  because  if  you 
speak  I  can  do  naught  save  to  follow 
you,  an'  if  I  even  but  touch  your  little 
hand  I  am  undone  unless  I  can  kiss 
these  sweet  lips,  an'  be  a  man  again." 

"You  must  not  love  me  for  such 
things,  Will,"  expostulated  Annie, 
blushing  deeper  and  deeper.  "Love 
me  because  I  am  going  to  make  you  a 
good  an'  pious  wife." 

"I  love  you  in  all  sorts  o'  ways," 
said  Will,  soberly.  "But  why  do  you 
love  me?" 

Annie  laughed. 

"I  dunno.  I  ha'n't  a  good  reason, 
Will,"  she  said,  roguishly.  "P'r'aps 
212 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM'S 

I've  a  foolish  reason  or  two  like  your 
self.  You're  none  so  ugly,  an'  you  are 
straight  as  an  arrow,  an'  strong  as  an 
ox,  an'  have  a  way  wi'  you  as  if  noth 
ing  could  conquer  you. ' ' 

"Oh,  what  a  foolish  girl!"  cried 
Will,  triumphing  over  her  to  his 
heart's  content.  "I  doubt  if  there's 
much  wisdom  between  us  both." 

Words  are  no  symbols  for  the  fury 
which  the  sight  of  Will  and  his  bride- 
elect,  and  the  sound  of  their  careless 
laughter,  roused  in  Joshua  Trent  as  he 
passed  them  in  the  gloaming.  Many  a 
time  in  the  few  past  weeks  since  he 
knew  that  Annie  was  irremediably 
lost  to  him,  his  passion  of  imperious, 
impotent  longing  seemed  at  last  to  be 
dulled,  deadened  almost,  by  the  in- 

213 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM'S 

tensity  of  his  accumulating  hatred 
against  the  girl  who  had  repulsed  his 
suit,  and  the  man  who  had  taken  her 
from  him.  To  live  on,  bearing  this 
crush  of  insults  without  opportunity  for 
revenge,  seemed  impossible;  he  suf 
fered,  for  a  few  moments  after  passing 
Will  and  Annie,  all  the  tortures  of  the 
damned.  His  face  was  convulsed,  his 
deep-drawn  breath  came  from  a  breast 
heaving  with  agony.  He  felt  that  he 
must  hide  himself  from  the  eyes  of  men, 
for  he  could  not  stand  upright ;  his  knees 
almost  failed  under  him — cold  drops  of 
anguish  stood  on  his  brow.  He  was 
passing  the  church,  and  staggered  into 
the  shadow  of  the  tower  and  sat  down 
on  the  steps.  Above  him  was  the 
luminous  sky,  just  touched  with  color 
from  the  after-glow  in  the  west.  The 
214 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM'S 

stars  came  out  and  hung  golden 
over  the  market-place,  and  a  tender 
little  new  moon  shone  down  into 
the  purple  shadows  of  the  church 
yard.  It  was  an  evening  full  of  the 
peace  of  God,  but  Joshua  Trent  felt 
neither  rest,  repose,  nor  hope — nothing 
save  the  wretchedness  of  insane  jeal 
ousy  and  thwarted  passion  ....  He 
was  almost  bereft  of  reason.  .  .  . 

He  was  recalled  to  realities  by  the 
touch  of  a  man's  hand  upon  his 
shoulder,  and,  looking  up,  saw  old 
Bede,  the  sexton,  with  a  lantern  in  his 
hand,  grinning  in  his  face,  and  ready  to 
shake  him  roughly  for  a  vagrant. 

"Ef  I  didna  think  it  wur  some 
drunken  fellow  from  the  '  Three 
Crows!'  "  ejaculated  Bede,  in  his  shrill, 
wheezy  voice.  "An'  'tis  Master  Trent! 

"5 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM'S 

Anything  wrong,   belike,    that    you're 
sittin'  here  wi'  your  head  on  your  hands?" 

"No,  no!"  returned  Trent,  sullenly. 
"I'm  waiting  for  nine  o'clock  to 
strike  to  keep  an  appointment.  Go  on ; 
never  mind  me,  if  you  are  going  in 
side,  Bede. " 

"I  can't  get  into  the  belfry  till 
Johnny  comes  wi'  the  key,"  returned 
Bede,  testily.  "Parson  he  forgets  his- 
sen  keys,  then  comes  to  me  ef  he 
wants  to  show  a  gentleman  over  the 
church.  Parson  he'll  laugh  an'  say: 
'Bede,  I've  forgot  my  keys.  Just  gi' 
me  yourn,  an'  I'll  be  sure  to  hang  'em 
on  the  nail  in  their  place  as  I  come 
back.'  An'  then  parson  he's  so  absent- 
minded  he  forgets,  an'  I  has  to  send 
Johnny  trotting  up  to  the  parsonage 
after  'em. " 

216 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM'S 

Accordingly,  Bede  sank  down  heavily 
upon  the  steps  beside  Trent,  who  felt 
powerless  to  rise  and  move  away. 

"Ain't  there  but  two  sets  o' keys?" 
he  inquired,  indifferently. 

"Three.  Will  Ware  has  the  others 
now  that  he's  workin'  on  the  steeple. 
Keerful  ever  is  Will  Ware.  '  Bede,' 
he  says  to  me  every  day,  '  doan't  you 
let  a  soul  up  the  belfry-stairs,  or  I'll 
carry  you  up  an'  throw  you  out  the 
bell-tower!'  He  must  ha'  his  joke, 
you  know,  Will  Ware — he's  allus  so 
good-natured.  But  he  says,  an'  says 
true,  that  ef  he  once  knew  there  was 
man,  woman,  or  child  in  the  belfry, 
he  wouldn't  feel  safe  a  minute." 

"What  a  fool!"  ejaculated  Trent. 

"Not  so  much  a  fool.  'Twas  none  so 
bad  high  up  on  the  steeple,  for  he'd 
217 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM'S 

slung  a  rope  round  the  very  pinnacle, 
an'  had  a  scaffolding  besides.  But  ha' 
you  seen  him  to-day  on  the  turrets? 
He's  made  hisself  a  little  car  of  ropes 
that  he  pulls  round — but  there's  no 
footing.  Domned  ef  I'd  do  what  he 
does  for  a  thousand  pounds,  an'  marry 
Farmer  Snow's  daughter  into  the  bar 
gain!  You'd  think  it  a  ticklish  job, 
Master  Trent,  ef  you  ever  see  how  he 
managed !  He  has  to  fasten  his  ropes 
to  the  steeple-stairs,  an'  he  must  not 
leave  an  inch  o'  cord  to  meet  a  sharp 
edge,  for  ef  a  single  twist  was  to  cut, 
and  the  rope  wear  loose  and  slack,  down 
he'd  fall  a  hundred  feet  and  break  his 
neck  on  these  very  stones  here!  He 
takes  his  hammer  an'  twenty  slate  or 
so,  an'  lets  hisself  down,  an'  there  he 
is  helpless.  Let  me  leave  the  door 
218 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM'S 

unlocked,  so  that  some  domned  mis 
chievous  boy  could  go  up  and  touch 
them  ropes — who  knows  but  what  in 
five  minutes  handsome  Will  Ware  'ud 
be  lyin'  here  all  a  shapeless,  horrid 
mass,  as  Annie  Snow  'ud  die  rather' n 
look  at!" 

"Any  rope  is  liable  to  break,"  said 
Trent. 

"Not  when  Will  Ware  has  tried  it," 
returned  Bede,  rising.  "Thank  ye 
kindly,  Johnny.  What  did  parson  tell 
ye?" 

4 '  Parson  said  he  forgot, ' '  said  Johnny. 

"Jes'  so.  Now,  Johnny,  run  home. 
— It's  hard  on  nine  o'clock,  Master 
Trent.  Good-night  to  ye.  I'm  goin' 
up  to  toll  the  bell  for  the  dean.  My 
lady  will  have  it  tolled  all  noon-spell ; 
as  if  'twasn't  enough  to  have  all  Ted- 
219 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM'S 

dington  ha'  lost  their  relish  for  their 
dinners,  she  must  ha'  their  dreams 
spoiled  by  tolling  it  at  curfew  too. 
Good-night,  master." 

"Good-night,  Bede." 

The  key  grated  in  the  lock  of  the 
stout  mediaeval  portal,  which  swung 
wide,  then  shut  with  a  clang,  driven  to 
by  the  draught  down  from  the  belfry- 
tower,  as  the  sexton  opened  the  inner 
door. 

Any  one  who  saw  Master  Trent's  face 
in  the  dusk  would  have  believed  he  had 
listened  to  some  joyful  news.  Ever 
since  he  had  fought  with  Will  Ware  in 
the  lane,  he  had  gone  about  begirt 
with  terrible,  nameless  thoughts.  If 
he  passed  the  black  tarn  in  the  hollow 
of  his  three  hills  at  Manor  Farm,  he 
had  a  vision  of  a  dead  man  lying  there, 
220 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM'S 

the  pallid  face  glaring  up  with  eyes 
vacant  to  all  the  show  of  earth  and  sky. 
Wherever  he  went  the  thought  of  ven 
geance  haunted  and  waylaid  him, 
pointing  to  coverts  where  he  might 
wrestle  once  more  with  his  mortal 
enemy  unseen — devised  every  mode 
and  fashion  of  horrid  death.  But 
these  had  been  vague  and  formless 
fancies.  It  needed  a  darker  climax  of 
misery  like  this  to-night  to  precipitate 
these  aimless  dreams,  and  give  him 
suddenly  this  clearer  vision.  No 
sooner  had  Bede  left  him  than  his 
mind,  as  if  lighted  by  a  thousand  minute 
tapers,  illuminated  the  course  before 
him,  stretching  out  to  a  cruel  certainty. 
He  started  to  his  feet  with  a  stealthy 
spring,  and  something  in  the  glitter  of 
his  eyes  sharpened  his  likeness  to  a 

221 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM'S 

beast  of  prey.  Above  from  the  belfry 
sounded  the  wild,  sweet  note  of  the 
death-bell  tolling,  tolling,  tolling  the 
tale  of  earthly  sorrow  to  the  calm  even 
ing  skies.  Each  stroke  of  the  bell 
smote  Trent  like  a  blow  as  he  stole 
along.  He  experienced  an  unconquer 
able  dread,  as  if,  in  place  of  working 
out  his  own  doom,  he  were  caught 
instead  in  a  silent  whirlpool  from  which 
he  was  powerless  to  escape.  He  felt 
cut  off  from  living,  breathing  human 
ity,  which  hoped  and  prayed  with 
ardent  heart-throbs;  he  was  encom 
passed  by  his  cold,  sullen  fury.  Still, 
he  wished  the  bell  would  cease.  The 
sound  must  make  angels  look  out  from 
heaven,  and  demons  gaze  up  from  hell, 
who  would  see  him  as  he  crept  into  the 
vestibule,  entered  the  belfry-tower — 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM  S 

which  Bede  had  left  unlocked  —  and 
crouched  shuddering  under  the  stair 
way. 


223 


IV. 

ANNIE  SNOW  could  not  sleep  that 
night,  but  lay  smiling  and  glow 
ing  the  while,  hearing  in  thought  and 
dream  alike  all  that  Will  had  said  to 
her  that  evening.  When  dawn  looked 
rosily  in  through  the  white  curtains  of 
her  bed,  she  roused  herself,  and  turned 
to  see  the  October  hazes  hanging  heavy 
over  the  great  woods  of  the  Chase, 
and  watched  the  gladsome  light  of  day 
flinging  itself  down  with  a  joyful  leap 
from  cloud  to  hill-top,  and  from  hill-top 
to  valley,  which  it  lit  with  strange 
gleams  of  color  as  the  night-fogs  rose 
with  the  curls  of  smoke  from  the  cot- 
225 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM'S 

tage -chimneys,  and  vanished  into  the 
blue.  It  was  pleasant  to  Annie  to  see 
the  day  appear,  to  behold  the  lines  of 
the  forest  unfold  higher  and  higher 
from  their  curtains  of  mist,  and  show 
their  mellow  tints  of  gold,  and  crimson, 
and  olive,  and  russet  to  the  first  sun 
beams  which  made  them  unfurl  before 
the  awakening  breeze  like  a  gorgeous 
banner. 

Annie  was  of  no  use  to  her  mother 
that  day ;  she  was  preoccupied  with  her 
great  joy,  and  saw  her  familiar  sur 
roundings  as  in  a  dream. 

"Since  you  have  no  brains  to-day, 
my  girl/'  Mistress  Snow  said,  at  last, 
half  impatient  of  her  abstraction,  "and 
since  the  morning  is  wasted  for  you 
anyhow,  go  to  the  buttery  an'  choose  a 
pair  o*  chickens,  an'  put  'em  in  a 
226 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM'S 

basket,  and  take  'em  to  Nancy  Jones, 
an'  tell  her  I  wish  her  joy  o'  her  son's 
return,  an'  send  her  something  for 
his  supper.  Poor,  shiftless  body,  she 
ne'er  had  a  thing  on  hand  for  a  man  to 
stop  his  hunger  with.  Go  now,  Annie, 
an"  when  you  come  back,  we'll  take  a 
bit  o'  dinner  an'  start  off  early  to  your 
aunt's.  'Tis  fitting  that  you  should 
see  all  your  relations  before  Sunday." 
Annie  obeyed  her  mother,  and  set 
out  on  her  walk  at  once.  The  mastiff 
whined  as  'she  crossed  the  farm-yard, 
and,  unloosing  his  chain,  she  answered 
his  caresses  until  he  was  ready  to  fol 
low  her  soberly  down  the  lane.  She 
walked  slowly ;  she  was  to-day  in  such 
an  enchanted  world  of  dreams  that  the 
voices  she  heard  were  faint,  the  sights 
shadowy.  She  was  thinking  endlessly 
327 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM'S 

of  Will's  words  —  she  was  looking  in 
imagination  at  his  face. 

At  the  turning  of  the  lane  she  was 
arrested  by  a  voice,  and,  stopping,  saw 
a  man  rising  out  of  the  tall  brakes  and 
advancing  toward  her.  Although  he 
did  not  speak,  his  face  startled  her. 

"What  is  it,  Master  Trent?"  she 
faltered. 

"What  time  o'  day  may  it  be,  Annie 
Snow?"  he  asked,  with  a  smile  —  the 
smile  of  a  foeman  who  takes  sure  aim 
and  sees  his  prey  fall. 

"It  is  almost  eleven  o'clock,"  she 
answered,  with  a  sort  of  reserve,  yet 
continuing  to  stare  at  him  as  if  fasci 
nated. 

"Then  you've  got  no  lover  but  me," 
cried  Trent,  with  hideous  elation.  "I 
told  you  I'd  have  you,  let  it  cost  what 
228 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM'S 

it  might,  an'  now  you  can  take  me. 
You  needn't  stare  at  me  so.  I  never 
did  it.  It  all  happened  by  chance.  I 
did  nothing — nothing — nothing!  But 
for  all  his  knotting,  and  twisting,  and 
pulling  the  great  ropes,  they  were  sure 
to  cut  on  the  sharp  ridge  of  the  win 
dow  ! ' ' 

As  the  man  spoke  his  breast  heaved 
and  labored ;  sweat  stood  on  his  brow 
in  great  beads ;  he  seemed  to  be  gazing 
at  some  horrid  sight. 

Annie's  heart  almost  died  within 
her. 

"What  has  happened?"  she  shrieked, 
convulsively.  "What  have  you  done 
to  Will  Ware,  Master  Trent?" 

"Done?  I've  done  nothing,"  he  re 
turned,  and  burst  into  frightful  laugh 
ter;  then,  as  if  his  mind  were  in  a 
229 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM'S 

chaos,  he  began  to  rave  about  a  man 
on  the  dome  of  St.  Chrysostom's 
steeple  looking  no  bigger  than  a  fly 
from  the  market-place  —  of  displaced 
pulleys,  of  cut  ropes  and  dangling 
cords,  and  a  shapeless,  horrible  mass, 
which  she  would  die  rather  than  look 
at,  on  the  stones  below. 

Annie  had  flung  down  her  basket 
with  a  scream  of  agony,  and  set  off  with 
the  mastiff  by  her  side. 

"It's  too  late!"  Trent  cried  out. 
"It's  an  hour  too  late.  It  was  sure  to 
happen  an  hour  ago. ' ' 

She  heard  him  not.  She  was  already 
out  of  the  lane,  and  had  reached  Ted- 
dington  highway.  The  safety  of  what 
she  loved  best  hung  on  the  swiftness 
of  her  flight ;  yet,  though  she  sped  like 
a  deer,  it  seemed  to  her  that  her  feet 
230 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM'S 

were  clogged.  She  could  not  think, 
even  if  she  had  dared  to  think, 
for  her  heart  hammered  so  wildly  in 
her  ears.  One  landmark  was  gained 
and  passed.  The  Chase  woods  stopped 
at  the  lodge-gate.  The  road  grew 
alive  with  riders  and  equipages.  She 
turned  aside  for  nothing.  Everything 
drew  back  for  her  as  she  was  seen 
rushing  on  like  one  distraught.  Men 
and  women,  turning  pale  as  they 
recognized  her  in  her  frantic  flight, 
stared  in  amazement,  and  followed  her 
with  a  thrill  of  curiosity  and  terror. 
She  was  in  sight  of  St.  Chrysostom's. 
She  gave  a  great  shriek  of  joy.  Could 
she  trust  her  eyes?  For  surely  a  some 
thing  hung  from  the  steeple.  She 
could  see  a  net  of  ropes  dangling 
there,  and  that  black  object  below  was 
231 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM'S 

surely  a  man.     Her  feet  gained  wings; 
she  sped  still  faster. 

The  great  market-place  in  front  of 
St.  Chrysostom's  was  full  of  people. 
Fifteen  minutes  before  some  lounger 
there  had  said  to  a  passer-by  that  he 
could  not  understand  what  ailed  Will 
Ware.  He  had  dropped  his  hammer 
and  a  dozen  slates  on  the  pavement,  and 
they  had  made  clatter  enough  to  wake 
the  dead.  Something  was  wrong,  per 
haps — but  what?  Will  Ware  was  no 
fool  to  risk  his  life  by  a  false  step  or  a 
loose  rope.  Yet  something  seemed  to 
have  slipped.  So  another  man  stopped 
to  gaze  curiously  up,  then  two,  then 
twenty ;  and  by  that  time,  with  a  feel 
ing  that  something  was  wrong,  help 
was  sent  to  the  belfry-tower,  and  the 
lock  of  the  door  was  discovered  to  have 
232 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM'S 

been  tampered  with  so  that  the  key 
would  not  turn.  The  door  had  to  be 
broken  in. 

Outside  the  crowd  gathered  and 
gazed  —  the  parson  out  of  his  study, 
the  shopkeepers,  the  street-loiterers, 
the  women  and  children.  A  man  with 
a  field-glass  had  raised  the  thrill  of 
curiosity  into  a  deeper  one  of  horror  by 
observing  that  Will  had  lost  all  support 
from  the  ropes  about  his  shoulders  and 
waist;  that  he  was  hanging  without  a 
chance  of  footing,  his  left  hand  only 
clinging  to  some  flying  cord  which 
either  slackened  or  gave  way  from  its 
support,  and  stretched  lower  and  lower 
every  moment.  What  he  was  doing 
now  was  swinging  himself  cautiously 
toward  one  of  the  buttresses  beneath, 
that  he  might  jump  as  the  rope  gave  way. 

233 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM'S 

By  this  time  three  hundred  different 
faces,  all  pale  as  if  frozen  by  one  Me 
dusa  touch,  were  upturned  in  this 
general  paralysis  of  stony  horror.  Now 
and  then  a  murmur  or  a  groan  was 
heard,  otherwise  there  was  not  a  sound. 
They  almost  feared  to  breathe,  as  each 
man  trembled  and  quivered  with  terror 
where  he  stood.  The  fifteen  minutes 
seemed  a  lifetime;  they  held  a  sus 
pense  which  made  it  an  eternity. 

Then  suddenly  arose  a  hoarse  mur 
mur. 

"They're  there  at  last!"  shouted 
fifty  voices,  in  a  simultaneous,  frantic 
yell,  and  the  terrible  calm  of  dread 
broke  into  storm.  Two  faces  had  ap 
peared  at  the  narrow  door  far  up  the 
steeple,  and  every  one  knew  that  the 
men  carried  lengths  of  heavy  rope.  It 

234 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM'S 

had  been  an  interval  of  such  helpless 
ness  that  at  this  chance  of  rescue  the 
gazers  gave  out  a  voice  of  thankfulness 
which  rose  in  a  jubilant  roar. 

Before  the  tumults  had  swelled  to 
their  loudest,  they  were  silenced  by  a 
woman's  shrill  shriek.  The  rope  by 
which  Will  held  had  slackened,  as  the 
last  strand  cut  through,  and,  to  save 
himself,  with  one  strenuous  exertion  of 
strength  he  swung  down  toward  the 
buttress,  held  a  moment,  then  fell  full 
forty  feet,  but  fastened  by  an  almost 
superhuman  effort  to  the  pediment 
above  the  high  facade.  Here  he  strove 
to  keep  his  balance,  clinging  with  feet 
and  hands  to  the  carved  basso-rilievo. 
It  was  of  no  use.  Before  one  dared 
draw  breath,  he  had  fallen  fifty-six 
feet,  and  lay  on  the  church-steps  below, 

235 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM'S 

and  a  girl  was  kneeling  by  the  shape 
less  mass. 


"You  had  better  take  her  away," 
said  the  doctors.  "He  is  not  dead,  but 
will  never  revive.  The  moment  we 
move  him  it  will  disclose  some  horri 
ble  mangling." 

"She  has  fainted,"  observed  the  par 
son.  "Bear  her  to  my  house,  my  men, 
then  let  us  attend  to  this  poor,  mur 
dered  fellow. " 

"Ay,  murdered!  I  heerd  her  say,  as 
she  flew  'cross  the  market-place, 
'  'Twas  Joshua  Trent  cut  the  ropes!'  " 

"Joshua    Trent   has  killed  the  best 
man  in  Teddington,  be  the  other  who 
he  may,"  howled  forth  one  of  Will's 
fellow- workmen,  in  clamorous  grief. 
236 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM'S 

They  raised  the  crushed,  helpless 
body,  put  it  on  a  shutter,  and  bore  it 
down  the  street,  inside  the  gate,  across 
the  threshold  into  Mrs.  Ware's  cottage, 
and  laid  it  on  the  bed,  freshly  decked 
that  morning  for  the  wedding-couch. 
Then  every  one  went  out  on  tiptoe 
save  the  parson  and  the  surgeons. 
Outside  all  Teddington  gathered, 
breathless,  voiceless,  waiting  to  hear 
the  fiat  which  would  shortly  come  forth 
that  Will  was  dying. 

"He  will  never  be  conscious  again," 
was  the  first  whisper  which  ran  around, 
and  men  unused  to  tears  burst  into 
wild  weeping.  The  church-clock  on 
St.  Chrysostom  's  tower  struck  twelve — 
struck  one — two — three — and  the  crowd 
outside  the  little  house  still  stood 
watching,  waiting,  and  fearing.  Will 

237 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM'S 

was  still  alive,  his  heart  beat  faintly, 
but  his  brain  was  crushed  in ;  he  might 
live  for  days  yet,  it  began  to  be  mur 
mured  from  one  to  the  other. 

Four  o'clock.  The  great  London 
doctor  who  had  come  down  at  noon  to 
see  Sir  John,  at  the  Chase,  descended 
from  Sir  John 's  carriage,  threaded  the 
crowd,  and  joined  the  council  of  doc 
tors  by  the  bedside.  Five  o'clock  from 
St.  Chrysostom' s.  The  great  London 
doctor  emerged,  talking  to  the  parson. 
The  parson  said,  at  the  carriage-win 
dow: 

"You  will  send  him  down  at  once, 
Sir  Peregrine?" 

' '  The  operation  shall  be  performed  at 
nine  o'  clock  to-morrow  morning. ' ' 

The  parson,  flushed  and  excited,  and 
quivering  with  hope  and  relief,  tells 
238 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM'S 

his  chief  parishioners  among  the  crowd 
that  it  is  thought  "trepanning"  may 
save  Will's  life.  One  of  the  local  sur 
geons  comes  out  in  such  good  spirits 
that  he  can  make  a  joke  about  the  case. 
"Enough  fractures  to  need  a  whole 
college  of  surgeons.  A  student  would 
have  a  chance  to  master  everything  at 
once." 


A  week  went  past  in  Teddington. 
No  hammer  rang  on  the  church-tower, 
and  people  had  not  yet  gotten  over  a 
trick  of  looking  up  and  shuddering  as 
they  passed  St.  Chrysostom's;  but  the 
first  excitement  had  lost  its  hold  upon 
the  town.  Will  Ware's  fellow-work 
men,  as  they  went  day  after  day  to 
their  places,  where  furnaces  roared, 

239 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM'S 

engines  boomed,  or  skilled  hands 
wrought  out  their  labor,  had  but  time 
to  stop  and  ask  Mrs.  Ware : 

"How's  Will  this  morning?" 

"He  lies  an'  moans,  poor  lad;  but 
we  think  he  begins  to  take  notice. " 

"Annie  Snow's  wi"  him?" 

"Always.  I  can  do  naught  for  my 
boy ;  her  eyes  are  so  keen,  her  ears  so 
swift,  an'  her  hands  so  willin',  she 
does  everything  for  him.  An'  to  re 
member  their  weddin'-day's  past  in 
this  way!" 

"He'll  never  get  up,"  the  men  would 
say  to  each  other,  with  a  shrug.  "Bet 
ter  for  him  to  ha'  been  killed  outright. 
He's  but  twenty-four,  an'  to  go  to  the 
workus — ' ' 

"Teddington  people' 11  never  let  Will 
Ware  go  to  the  workus." 
240 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM'S 

"But  as  a  man  has  a  long  life  to  live 
— people  forgets.  They'll  raise  him  a 
hundred  pounds,  maybe;  then  some 
thing  else'll  turn  up.  He'll  lie  an' 
suffer,  an'  long  to  die,  an'  pretty  Annie 
Snow'll  take  another  sweetheart." 


241 
16 


V. 

IT  was  Christmas-eve  in  Teddington. 
Brief  daylight  had  they  had  that 
day,  for  "the  silent  snow  possessed  the 
earth, ' '  and  night  had  closed  in  early. 

"The  yule-log  sparkled  keen  with  frost, 
No  wing  of  wind  the  region  swept, 
But  over  all  things  brooding  slept 
The  quiet  sense  of  something  lost." 

Will  sat  bolstered  up  in  bed.  A  log 
blazed  on  the  hearth,  but  there  was  no 
light  in  the  room  save  the  wavering, 
vermilion  gleams  of  fire-flush  on  the 
low  walls.  Mistress  Ware  slept,  softly 
breathing,  in  her  easy-chair.  Annie 
Snow  knelt  on  the  hearth-rug  playing 
with  the  kitten,  yet  feeling  her  heart 

243 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM'S 

heavy  with  perplexed  sadness.  Once 
she  lifted  the  closed  curtain  and  looked 
out ;  snow  was  still  falling.  It  was  to 
be  a  white  Christmas,  and  people  had 
said  all  day  that  if  the  storm  did  not 
abate  by  nightfall  there  could  be  few 
carols  sung  this  year. 

"Annie,"  spoke  Will,  scarcely  above 
his  breath. 

The  girl  sprang  joyfully  to  obey  his 
call.  Not  once  had  he  spoken  her 
name  like  this  during  all  his  long  ill 
ness.  He  had  never  asked  a  service 
save  of  his  mother,  although  poor, 
deaf,  placid  Mistress  Ware  could  do 
nothing  for  him.  Annie  knelt  beside 
the  bed  and  looked  up  with  the  atti 
tude  of  a  willing  slave,  who  says, 
"Lord,  I  am  here." 

Will's  own  face  was  in  shadow  •  but 
244 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM'S 

he  could  plainly  see  her  glowing 
cheeks  and  shining  eyes — almost  too 
plainly  for  his  self-control,  for,  although 
she  was  worn  and  wasted,  never  had  she 
seemed  so  beautiful  to  him. 

"What  is  it,  Will?"  she  asked,  op 
pressed  by  the  silence  which  made  her 
tremble  and  burn  with  some  nameless 
dread. 

"Annie,"  he  answered,  in  a  broken 
voice,  "I  heard  your  mother  telling 
you  to  go  home  with  her  to-day.  What 
ailed  you,  not  to  go?" 

"Do  you  want  me  away,  Will?" 

"But  I  need  your  watchin'  an*  wait- 
in'  no  longer,  Annie." 

"An*  who  is  to  take  care  o'  you,  I 
should  like  to  know?"  Annie  burst  out, 
passionately.  "Who  would  sit  by  you 
at  night  as  I  do,  never  sleeping  so 

245 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM'S 

sound  but  what  I  can  hear  you  move, 
and  so  moisten  your  lips  wi'  the  drink, 
an'  give  you  the  powders?  Who  would 
keep  the  fire  bright,  an'  bring  your 
hot  broth  every  hour?  An'  who  would 
look  after  your  bandages,  an'  loose 
'em  when  they  hurt  you,  not  waitin' 
for  'em  to  grow  so  tight  as  to  give  you 
pain?  Your  mother  would  do  it  all  if 
she  could;  but  she  is  old,  an'  her  ears 
heavy,  an'  her  sleep  so  sound — it  takes 
a  stout  shake  to  wake  her." 

"Granny  Thorpe  would  come, 
Annie." 

Annie  gave  some  exclamation ;  and, 
starting  up  with  some  of  her  old  im 
petuosity,  went  back  to  the  fire. 

"Come  to  me,  Annie,"  whispered 
Will. 

She  yielded  to  his  entreaty,  and  re- 
246 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM'S 

turned  to  the  bedside,  but  stood  apart 
from  him. 

"I'll  stay  the  night,  Will,"  said  she, 
with  a  tremor  in  her  voice.  "I  canna 
get  away  in  such  a  storm.  Father '11 
take  me  home  after  church  to-mor 
row.  ' ' 

He  knew  by  the  sound  of  her  voice 
that  she  was  crying.  He  stretched  out 
his  right  arm,  and  drew  her  toward 
him. 

"Annie,"  said  he,  looking  into  her 
face,  "ye  know  what  the  doctor  says.  " 

"Yes,"  she  returned,  shy  at  the 
touch,  and  trembling  at  the  look  upon 
his  face. 

"I  shall  be  a  cripple  always,"  said 

Will,    without    any    weakness    in    his 

voice.      "P'r'aps  more — p'r'aps  less — 

but  always  a  cripple.     My  chest  may 

247 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OP  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM'S 

get  over  its  weakness  when  I  grow 
well  and  hearty — my  left  arm'll  never 
be  no  good  any  more — an'  there'll  be 
many  an  ache  in  my  head.  What  a 
poor  fellow  I  shall  be,  Annie ! ' ' 

She  could  not  speak,  but  her  shyness 
and  pride  were  all  absorbed  in  wom 
anly  pity.  She  laid  her  cheek  on  his. 

"He  did  it  forme  that  day,"  pur 
sued  Will,  with  a  sigh.  "If  Joshua 
Trent—" 

"Don't  speak  his  name!"  cried 
Annie  feverishly.  "I  can  bear  it  as 
coming  from  God,  but  not  as  coming 
from  that  man.  When  I  think  o'  him 
— it  all  breaks  on  me  with  a  rush; 
I  can't  bear  it.  Then  to  have  him  get 
away  so  quiet  that  nobody  could  find 
him  an'  punish  him!" 

"I'm  glad  they  never  caught  him," 
248 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM'S 

said  Will,  quietly.  "I've  suffered 
enough  —  God  knows  I've  suffered 
enough — I  want  no  other  man  to  suffer 
— not  one — not  even  Joshua  Trent! 
An',  besides,  'twas  all  because  he  loved 
you,  Annie;  an'  I  know — I  know  that 
for  a  man  to  give  up  the  woman  he 
loves  dear,  is  hard — harder  than  suffer 
ing  or  death. ' ' 

He  clasped  her  close  with  his  good 
right  arm,  and  bowed  his  head  upon 
hers ;  then  said,  after  a  long  pause : 

"But  we  was  happy,  Annie.  We 
should  ha'  been  most  happy  if  it  could 
ha'  been.  But  'twas  not  to  be." 

She  gave  a  cry,  and  nestled  closer  to 
him. 

"You  don't  love  me  any  more,  Will," 
she  said,  with  a  burst  of  tears.  "Your 
sickness  has  changed  you.  I  've  heard 
249 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM'S 

it  happens  so  sometimes.  You  don't 
love  me  any  more!  I've  seen  it  all 
along-  ever  since  you  first  began  to  take 
notice,  but  I  would  not  let  myself  be 
lieve  it!  I  thought  you  must  have  a 
little  feeling  for  me  that  'ud  come  back 
when  you  got  better!" 

He  pushed  her  away  from  him. 

"O  God,  help  me!"  he  muttered. 
"Annie,  you  don't  know  what  you  are 
sayin' !  I  mustn't  tell  you  the  truth !  I 
must  not.  Not  love  you  any  more  ?  If 
you  only  knew,  Annie!  But  I  must 
not  tell  you!" 

"An'  why  not,  Will?  What  is  it  that 
has  come  between  us?" 

"Am  I  the    man    you    promised  to 

marry,   Annie    Snow?"    he  burst  out, 

vehemently.      "Am    I    the  same  man 

who  courted   you   last   summer  —  who 

250 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM'S 

kissed  you — met  you  in  the  lane — 
walked  home  from  church  wi'  you? 
Could  I  look  your  father  i'  the  face,  an 
ask  him  to  gi'  me  a  wife?  Me,  a  mis 
erable  cripple,  weak,  useless,  wi'  but 
one  arm,  no  power  in  head  or  body  to 
earn  a  livin'  for  my  wife — to  say 
naught  o'  makin'  a  livin'  for  the 
children  who  would  come !  .  .  .  Annie, 
I  durst  not  make  so  bold — I  durst  not, 
I  say !  You  must  go  home  —  the 
sooner  the  better —  I'm  not  worth  the 
touch  o'  these  little  hands!  Some- 
body'll  take  care  o'  me — but  better  that 
nobody  should  help  me  to  live — better 
if  I'd  die— if  I'd  died  the  day  I  fell! 
I've  knowed  it  all  the  time!  I  had  no 
right  ever  to  open  my  eyes  again ! ' ' 

Annie   was  terrified  lest  he  should 
do  himself  a  mischief  in  his  passion. 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM'S 

She  passed  her  little  hand  across  his 
face. 

"S'pose,  Will,"  she  murmured  — 
"s'pose  it  had  been  a  month  later  when 
it  happened,  an*  I  was  your  lawful, 
wedded  wife?  What  then?  Would 
you  ha'  sent  me  away?" 

He  drew  her  down  upon  his  breast. 
In  spite  of  his  despairing  renunciation, 
a  thrill  of  joy  had  run  through  him. 

"You  couldn't  ha'  gone  then, "said 
he.  "I  do  believe,  Annie,  you  want  to 
marry  me  just  as  I  am!"  , 

"I  would  not  think,"  retorted  Annie, 
laughing  and  blushing  as  their  full 
glances  met — "I  would  not  think  o' 
marryin'  a  man  dead  set  against  hav 
ing  a  wife. ' ' 

***** 

All  Teddington  went  to  St.  Chrysos- 
252 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM'S 

tom's  Easter-Monday  to  see  Will  Ware 
hobble  down  the  aisle  with  his  bride 
upon  his  arm,  and  such  kissing  and 
handshaking  had  never  gone  on  in  the 
vestry-room  as  now  ensued  after  the 
pretty,  blushing  bride  had  written  her 
name  in  the  great  book.  Farmer 
Snow  was  there  with  smiles  and 
laughter,  and  his  wife  with  a  tear  in 
her  eye ;  and  all  Teddington  knew  that 
Annie  and  her  husband  were  to  live 
with  the  old  people  at  the  farm,  and 
that  Will  was  to  succeed  to  all  the 
duties  of  the  place.  For  Will  was  no 
wreck  of  a  man — there  is  no  irreme 
diable  wreck  and  ruin  save  in  the  heart 
and  mind;  and  since  he  had  kissed 
Annie  that  Christmas-eve,  with  the 
wild,  sweet  kiss  of  their  second  be 
trothal,  he  had  felt  in  heart  and  mind 

253 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM'S 

the  strength  and  aspiration  of  a  dozen 
men. 

***** 
When  the  bride  and  bridegroom  had 
driven  away  with  Farmer  Snow,  the 
crowd  did  not  disperse  its  various  ways, 
but  still  lingered  about  the  church 
yard.  Knots  of  men  and  women 
clustered  in  every  corner,  discussing  a 
strange  piece  of  news.  All  these 
months  it  had  been  believed  that,  since 
Joshua  Trent  had  stolen  up  the  stone 
steps  of  the  belfry-tower  to  do  his  cruel 
work,  the  vengeance  of  God  and  man 
alike  had  slumbered,  and  the  criminal 
had  gone  free.  But  now  all  Tedding- 
ton  was  to  hear  that  this  very  morning 
— away  over  in  the  hollow  between  the 
three  hills  behind  Manor  Farm — there 
had  floated  to  the  surface  of  the  black 

254 


HIGH  STEEPLE  OF  ST.  CHRYSOSTOM'S 

tarn  a  terrible  thing;  and  thus  it  was 
revealed  that  the  would-be  murderer 
had  felt  the  horror  of  his  accursed  deed 
so  strongly  that  he  had  ended  his  life 
there. 


THE  END 


255 


A     000104457     7 


A  REVOLUTIONARY 
LOVE  STORY  BY 
ELLEN  OLNEY 
KIRK 


